A  FAftM-HOUSE  COBWEB 


S  THovel 


BY 

EMORY  J.  HAYNES 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
1895 


Copyright,  1895,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHER* 

All  n>U.  ratmd. 


TO 

MY  FRIEND 
JOHN  S.  HUYLER 


2061818 


A  FARM-HOUSE   COBWEB 


CHAPTER  I 

WE  held  our  singing-schools  that  winter  in  the 
town-hall.  For  two  or  three  seasons  previous 
Northbrook  had  been  fairly  sprinkled  over  with 
smaller  schools  in  different  parts  of  the  town. 
As  many  as  four  different  teachers  had  gathered 
small  companies,  singing  their  do,  re,  mes  in  the 
North  District,  at  the  Meadows,  at  East  Brook, 
and  at  Mechanicsville. 

Old  Philander  Pepper,  that  veteran,  had  led  in 
our  parts  generally.  The  venerable  man  had 
been  teaching  our  grandfathers  and  grandmothers 
to  sing,  up  and  down  the  stony  hill-sides  and  vales 
of  Vermont,  long  before  we  were  born.  He  was 
a  most  worthy  gentleman,  Philander  P.,  whose 
voice  was  now,  however,  like  a  scythe  much 
ground,  with  its  thin  back  and  a  feathery  edge. 

But  when  this  young  Dartmouth  student  fairly 
began  to  compete  with  him  by  getting  up  a  class 
in  the  Centre  Village,  poor  Philander  lost  popu- 


larity  rapidly.  In  fact  all  the  four  other  schools 
in  our  township  were  to  be  consolidated  this  win- 
ter of  18 —  at  the  Centre  Village,  using  the  great 
•room  of  the  town-hall,  as  I  have  said. 

This  handsome,  graceful,  popular  young  teach- 
er's name  was  Arthur  Alfred  Felton.  Mine  is 
plain  Elisha  Stone.  You  see  them  for  the  first 
time  together  on  this  printed  page.  So  I  used  to 
write  them  side  by  side  years  ago,  and  then  fall 
to  studying  them  long  and  with  many  a  heart- 
ache. As  I  sat  by  my  solitary  wood  grate  in  my 
farm-house  often  I  wrote  them  by  fancy  in  the 
flicker  of  the  firelight,  when  the  candle  had  burned 
out.  His  name  looks  the  best,  I  am  bound  to 
confess. 

I  used  to  wonder  if  Mary  Holyoke  ever  wrote 
those  two  names  together  and  studied  them  as  I 
did.  She  was  poetess  enough  to  make  their  two 
owners  dance  in  the  mimic  quadrilles  of  glowing 
embers  in  the  ample  fireplace  of  her  father's  li- 
brary. Yes,  quite  likely  she  did  this.  Would  to 
God  she  had  done  no  more  than  that  with  his 
name,  with  his  shape  in  her  maiden  visions  of  to- 
morrow ! 

"Will  you  go  to — allow  me  to  escort  you  to 
the  singing -school  this  winter?"  I  had  asked 
Mary  Holyoke  along  in  November. 

I  remember  that  I  drove  my  colt  Skip  up 
there  that  day  and  halted  in  front  of  her  fathers 
door.  As  I  could  not  leave  the  colt,  Mary  came 
round  from  the  back  stoop,  where  she  was  en- 


gaged  rinsing  off  the  milk-pails  just  after  strain- 
ing, to  speak  with  me.  Her  sleeves  were  rolled  to 
her  dimpled  elbows,  notwithstanding  the  frosty  air. 

What  a  picture  of  graceful  health  she  was  ! 
No  doubt  I  was  as  nervous  as  my  colt,  yet  I  had 
an  honest  and  sober  purpose  in  my  heart.  I  loved 
the  girl  then.  I  had  loved  that  child  ever  since 
she  was  born.  I  was  ten  years  her  senior.  I  had 
worked  as  chore-boy  on  her  wealthy  father's  farm 
the  very  summer  she  was  born.  Now,  however, 
I  owned  a  fine  farm  of  my  own,  small  but  as 
good  land,  if  I  do  say  it,  as  ever  lay  out-of-doors. 
I  had  seen  her  grow  up,  and  I  had  waited.  "When 
her  father  sent  her  to  Montpelier  to  school  I 
bought  a  few  books,  and  I  read  and  studied  in 
secret  while  I  waited.  I  tried  to  keep  up  with 
what  I  imagined  she  was  doing.  I  carefully 
measured  her  attainments  as  I  saw  her  return, 
vacation  after  vacation,  more  and  more  a  lady. 
Working  all  day  in  the  fields,  and  over  books  at 
night,  would  have  broken  me  down  had  I  been 
less  vigprous.  I  tried  to  believe  that  my  vigor- 
ous health  and  rugged  appearance  blotted  out 
the  ten  years  difference  between  us.  I  think  so 
still.  Maybe  I  am  of  a  sober  vein  mentally  ;  but 
I  must  be  allowed  to  confess  that  my  hopes,  my 
spirits,  ray  generosity  of  intent,  keep  me  young. 
There  never  was  a  boy  in  our  district  who  could 
get  me  off  my  feet  at  snap-the-whip. 

"  Whoa  !  will  you  ?"  I  said,  as  the  mare  kept 
dancing. 


Then  Mary  came  up  and  put  her  small  hand 
on  the  tire  of  my  wheel,  replying  to  my  invita- 
tion :  "  I  have  subscribed  myself  this  year,  but 
I  will  be  glad  to  accompany  you  occasionally." 

Indeed  !  Was  it  so  ?  The  season  before  Mary 
had  gone  in  my  sleigh  to  Philander  Pepper's 
school  at  East  Brook  school-house  all  the  Thurs- 
day evenings  of  the  course.  This  season,  how- 
ever, she  had  sent  her  father  down  to  subscribe 
for  the  class  in  the  village  herself,  had  she  ?  I 
ought  to  have  taken  warning  then,  though  I  do 
not  think  I  really  did. 

"The  first  night  then,  Mary,"  I  answered. 
"Let  me  take  you  the  first  night.  It's  going  to 
be  a  big  school ;  we  shall  have  a  crowd  of  sleighs 
thronging  and  bothering  at  the  door  after  the 
class  breaks  up,  and  your  father  is  getting  along 
in  years." 

"  Certainly,"  she  had  said ;  and  we  chatted  a 
few  words  more,  when  I  drove  away.  I  might 
have  put  the  mare  in  the  barn  and  spent  the 
evening,  but  I  did  not.  Still  we  parted  in  smiles. 
What  a  smile  that  young  creature  had,  as  she 
stood  there,  artless,  gracious,  serving  her  home 
with  a  domestic  fidelity  so  different  from  the 
haughty  contempt  for  work  that  characterizes 
young  girls  of  her  station.  She  was  like  some 
queen  in  Macaulay  of  which  I  had  read.  Her 
eyes  had  a  beauty  of  blue  that  Byron  had  never 
sung  in  all  my  reading.  She  was  as  good  as  she 
was  beautiful,  and  that's  a  fact ! 


The  singing-school — let  me  get  at  the  descrip- 
tion of  it.  I  can  see  the  old  hall  yet — on  the  hill, 
just  beyond  the  Congregational  church.  We 
used  the  horse-sheds  at  the  back  of  the  church 
for  our  teams.  That  was  square  with  the  Lord, 
for  we  all  sang  in  the  choir.  The  building  was 
high  -  lodged,  overlooking  all  the  village  roofs. 
The  two  rows  of  windows  were  blazing  with  the 
warm  light  that  was  laying  itself  out  in  rosy  tints 
on  the  snowy  earth  of  the  village  green.  The 
new  moon  hung  out,  I  remember,  low  down  tow- 
ards her  setting  over  South  Mountain,  sharp  as 
a  harvest  sickle.  The  air  was  so  clear,  the  night 
so  blue -dark,  that  the  copper  of  the  moon's 
shadowed  part  was  plainly  to  be  seen,  making  a 
curious  orb  of  two  colors. 

Ho\v  the  stars  used  to  laugh  in  those  fond 
heavens,  and  seemed  in  that  cold  rare  air  to  be  so 
stuck  upon  the  surface  of  the  sky  that  one  could 
pluck  them  off  with  a  long  apple-picker. 

Here  was  the  union  store  on  the  left,  there  on 
the  right  the  new  tavern,  the  lamps  from  their 
windows  flashing  in  lanes  of  light  that  met  in  the 
centre  of  the  street  by  the  town  pump.  Some  of 
the  boys  watered  their  colts  at  the  frost-rimmed 
log  trough,  but  I  did  not ;  my  mare  was  too 
warm. 

I  can  see  them  yet  —  those  shapely  Vermont 
Morgans,  steaming  with  their  exertion,  proudly 
jingling  their  bells,  which  in  those  days  they  wore 
as  a  shining  circlet  around  the  body.  What  a 


procession  of  us  winding  up  meeting-house  bill ! 
The  snow  was  two  feet  deep,  if  one  floundered 
out  of  the  path;  therefore  every  fellow  in  line. 

"Hollo,  Zeek!  That  you?  Catch  him,  hi!" 
The  cry  of  warning  was  passed  along  from  a  doz- 
en mouths.  Luckily  Ezekiel  Blood  had  left  Lucy 
Tennant  at  the  door. 

There  was  a  bit  of  excitement  as  the  foolhardy 
Zeek  had  tried  to  turn  out  in  the  deep  snow,  get- 
ting a  tip-over.  He  would  have  been  wiser  had 
he  followed  us  moi-e  sedate  mortals  on  that  half 
sweep  round  to  the  horse-sheds.  However,  the 
colt  behaved  beautifully,  and  stopped,  all  like  a 
frightened  deer,  as  two  or  three  shouted  to  her. 
Poor  Ezekiel,  as  he  rises  before  me  a  Santa  Claus 
of  memory,  tugging  after  the  trembling  creature, 
robes  on  his  shoulder,  and  that  precious  new  whip 
in  his  hand.  "That  was  a  Boston  -  bought  whip," 
he  said.  Ah  me,  that  happy  night!  Ezekiel  died 
in  the  wars  two  years  later. 

One  by  one  we  filed  under  the  lamp  which  hung 
in  its  iron-bound  cage  above  the  door,  each  sleigh- 
load  of  rosy  girls  and  stalwart  boys.  There  was 
no  gaudy  awning  to  hide  coy  beauties  from  the 
peeping  moon.  There  was  no  lounging  officer  to 
impede  their  springing  flight  up  the  steps,  as  I 
see  in  cities  before  the  opera.  The  winds  played 
with  their  wraps,  buffeting  their  silvery  voices 
after  our  retreating  sleighs. 

"Good -evening,  Hannah."  This  was  Hannah 
Castlereigh. 


"  Do  tell,  Marinda !  I  thought  you  were  visit- 
ing in  Boston.  Rather  be  here,  had  you  not,  ray 
dear?"  This  was  Marinda  Joslyn.  I  knew  all 
their  sweet  voices  ;  our  "  set." 

"  Indeed  we  would,  my  dears,"  I  heard  Cynthia 
Little  wood  cry,  shaking  the  snow-flakes  from  her 
musk-rat  furs.  Cynthia's  fellow' was  Horace  Park- 
ridge,  from  the  North  District,  and  never  was  a 
more  daring  horseman  or  a  more  perfect  jehu  of  a 
driver  than  "  Hod,"  as  we  called  him.  There  nev- 
er was  a  Horace,  by -the -way,  in  all  Vermont  or 
New  Hampshire  who  got  the  use  of  his  whole  name 
or  escaped  being  called  "  Hod."  The  boy  had  driv- 
en so  fast  those  ten  miles  that  Cynthia  was  sprin- 
kled all  over  her  shapely  shoulders  with  crystal 
frost,  and  even  in  her  black  and  shining  hair  it 
shone,  as  in  later  years  I  have  seen  diamond  dust 
sparkling  in  the  tresses  of  society  women  at  state- 
ly receptions. 

Can  I  not  hear  them  yet?  The  broad  entry-way 
full  of  charming  women,  stamping  their  stout  lit- 
tle boots  free  of  the  snow,  cooing  like  a  flock  of 
pigeons  the  latest  bits  of  neighborly  gossip,  while 
they  waited  for  us  boys  till  we  picked  out  each  his 
own  to  escort  her  up  the  stairs.  We  made  a  good 
roomful,  nigh  two  hundred  of  us,  all  seated  and 
ready  to  start  on  a  pitch. 

"  I  shall  begin  at  once,"  said  Felton,  almost  as 
soon  as  we  were  seated,  "with  a  preliminary  sep- 
aration and  location  of  the  four  parts.  Basses  on 
my  left,  in  the  wing  seats,  please.  Promptly, 


gentlemen.  Tenors  take  the  right;  altos  here; 
sopranos  here.  I  see  you  have  done  all  this  be- 
fore, anticipating  me."  He  stepped  down  gin- 
gerly from  the  platform  to  the  floor  with  stick  in 
hand. 

We  expected  this  rearranging  to  suit  himself, 
of  course,  but  rather  later  in  the  evening.  He 
was,  however,  as  prompt  as  a  colonel  of  volun- 
teers. I  had  planned  it  all  at  my  own  solitary 
fireside  evening  on  evening  as  I  sat  looking  at 
the  shadows  and  flashings  of  the  fire-log.  Since 
I  sung  bass  and  Mary  Holyoke  sung  soprano, 
there  was  no  good  reason  why  we  should  not  be 
located  side  by  side.  Do  you  not  see?  Mary 
could  be  the  last  one  on  a  seat  full  of  sopranos 
and  I  the  first  one  of  a  seat  full  of  basses.  I  felt 
sure  she  was  among  "  the  leading  voices  "  that 
would  be  there.  I  was  forced  to  reckon  myself 
nearer  a  leading  bass  than  I  really  was,  no  doubt, 
plotting  my  desired  place.  Except  for  Arthur 
Alfred  Felton,  she  would  never  have  thought 
of  objecting  to  ray  plan.  She  was  never  more 
cordial  and  gracious  to  me  than  on  that  night, 
from  the  time  I  took  her  up  at  her  father's  horse- 
block till  we  were  seated  in  that  row;  so  there, 
if  I  do  say  so ! 

"  Let  us  try  '  Federal  Street,'  "  began  the  mas- 
ter, "  and  get  our  voices  in  trim." 

The  majestic  old  melody  moved  off  at  once, 
noble  as  a  march  of  an  army  with  banners.  Two 
hundred  good  voices  there  were,  mostly  youthful, 


though  gray-haired  men,  not  many  women  gi'ay- 
haired,  were  here  and  there  in  the  throng. 

Old  Deacon  Landers  had  sung  in  our  choirs 
among  the  tenors  for  fifty  years.  Whether  his 
kind  blue  eyes  looked  through  his  spectacles  on 
the  page  or  over  it  always  puzzled  us  to  tell. 
The  deacon  and  his  life -long  friend  'Kiah  Low- 
rey,  always  together  in  every  singing-school  since 
I  could  remember,  sat  side  by  side.  And  why 
not?  For  they  knew  more  than  any  master  whom 
we  ever  had,  'Kiah  being  expert  with  the  bass 
viol  and  the  deacon  the  church  chorister  of  thirty 
years.  These  two  of  heavy  foot ;  each  would  in- 
sist always  in  beating  time  with  the  boot. 

The  deacon,  moreover,  relied  upon  his  tuning- 
fork  to  catch  the  pitch  even  after  we  had  the  pi- 
ano. "Twang -hum -do,  re,  me."  But  as  both 
these  gentlemen  were  among  the  wealthiest  farm- 
ers in  our  parts,  and  always  heavy  subscribers  to 
new  music,  to  the  oyster  supper  at  the  end  of  the 
term,  and  present  of  a  new  baton  to  the  master, 
what  mattered  about  their  old-fashioned  way? 

"'Hebron!'"  cried  Arthur  Alfred  Felton,  in  his 
rich  deep  tone.  "And  now,  as  we  come  to  that 
natural  in  the  upper  staff,  ladies,  do  not  be  afraid 
of  it !" 

We  start,  we  are  rapped  to  silence,  we  get  fur- 
ther explanation.  We  get  agoing  on  "Hebron"  at 
last  to  suit  his  exacting  ear. 

But  he  was  handsome  though,  as  he  stood  forth 
there  dressed  in  city-cut  garments,  six  feet  tall, 


10 


broad-shouldered,  black  and  wavy  hair,  low  wide 
brow,  hazel  eyes,  a  side-whisker  sweeping  long 
and  low  for  one  so  young,  and  exposing  his  full 
lips  free  to  use  their  smiles.  And  manly,  too,  one 
might  confess.  It  was  a  frank,  honest  air  he  wore 
at  least.  He  made  friends  even  among  men.  The 
small  boys  liked  him,  and  kept  silence  in  the  side 
settees  at  his  slightest  request.  As  a  rule,  our 
singing  teachers  had  no  end  of  trouble  with  the 

o       o 

boys,  often  ejecting  them,  scolded  at  the  whis- 
pering spectators,  and  not  unfrequently  ended  up 
with  unpopular  orders  that  "  no  spectators  should 
be  admitted,"  expect  the  village  minister,  the 
judge,  and  a  few  dignitaries. 

But  there  was  a  spell  in  Arthur  Alfred  Fen- 
ton's  slightest  request.  "Let  us  have  attention. 
We  are  glad  to  welcome  our  friends,  but  they  will 
see  the  necessity  of  silence."  That  was  enough. 

Were  you  ever  at  a  country  singing -school 
when  the  vital  air  without  was  twenty  degrees 
below  zero?  When  the  boreal  light,  arching 
the  sky,  made  each  singing  mortal  thrice  vital  ? 
When,  within,  the  huge  box-stove,  throbbing  red, 
fought  with  the  chill  till  the  windows  were  cov- 
ered with  steam,  and  faces  of  man  and  maid  flushed 
high?  When,  with  each  added  tune,  the  heart 
beat  quicker  as  the  music  grew  in  grace  ?  Majes- 
tic song !  A  world  of  it,  in  the  outer  air,  in  the 
room,  in  our  hearts.  Mighty  words,  the  hymns 
of  the  ages,  the  aspirant  prayers  of  saints,  full  of 
praise  and  promise,  life,  death,  sorrow,  joy,  and 


11 


the  immortal  life.  Not  a  solitary  ditty,  not  a 
line  of  doggerel,  but  great  swelling  numbers  of 
the  soul's  best  wish  towards  God. 

Who,  who  could  go  through  two  hours  of  it, 
and  not  be  a  better  man  therefor?  We  laughed, 
of  course,  and  between  times  chatted  small  talk, 
passed  candy  to  the  girls,  and  cast  sheep's-eyes. 
But,  for  all  that,  we  were  exalted.  It  was  a  strange 
commingling  of  heavenly  and  earthly  emotions. 

May  Heaven  forgive  me  if  I  did  a  sacrilegious 
thing ;  but,  after  all  those  years  of  waiting,  then 
at  last,  my  very  soul  amid  the  clouds,  I  brought 
myself  to  the  point  of  the  momentous  question. 
We  were  singing  Anna  Barbauld's  hymn  to  the 
tune  "  Zephyr,"  from  Bradbury's  new  book.  The 
first  stanza  ran, 

"How  blest  tbe  sacred  tie  that  binds, 
In  union  sweet,  according  minds/' 

As  we  paused  at  the  end  of  the  line  I  could  not 
say  that  I  turned  my  head  upon  my  shoulders  to 
look  directly  at  Mary;  but  I  was  conscious  of 
some  subtle,  psychic  perception — I  think  that's 
the  word — that  told  me  that  she  was  instinct  with 
the  apt  meaning  of  the  couplet.  A  smile  stole 
over  her  dear  face  ;  it  parted  her  trembling  lips 
till  the  white  pearl  showed  their  two  full  rows; 
and  as  the  air  climbed  upward  on  the  opening  of 
the  last  couplet, 

"How  swift  the  heavenly  course  they  run, 
Whose  hearts 'whose  faith,  -whose  hopes  are  one," 


12 


she  turned  and  looked  on  me.  I  was  nearly  over- 
whelmed! As  I  am  writing  these  annals  for  no 
eyes  but  my  own  and  those  of  my  most  intimate 
friends,  I  need  not  be  ashamed  to  confess  my  emo- 
tion. I  remember  fearing  Arthur  Alfred  Felton's 
rap  to  order  over  some  error  in  execution  ;  fear- 
ing some  wicked  halt,  a  chiding  that  would  com- 
pel us  to  forego  the  next  stanza,  when  there  would 
be  a  silent,  an  awkward  pause.  What,  then,  should 
I  say  to  Mary  ?  how  should  I  act  ?  But,  no,  it  was 
correctly  sung;  Arthur  Alfred  smiled,  nodded, 
bent  forward  with  his  whole  body,  struck  up  and 
down  the  two-two  time ;  we  swept  on,  as  a  fairy 
cloud  in  summer  gales,  over  skies  of  blue  ;  on,  on 
went  the  melody,  bearing  upward  the  next  stanza : 

"To  each  the  soul  of  each  how  dear, 
What  jealous  love,  what  holy  fear, 
How  doth  the  generous  flame  within 
Refine  from  earth  and  cleanse  from  sin." 

As  I  recall  it  all,  after  the  flight  of  years,  in  my 
ecstasy  I  drop  the  pen  and  seat  myself  to  touch 
again  the  piano  to  the  tune  "Zephyr."  The  re- 
production is  complete!  I  live  it  all  over  again. 
Would  any  chance  kinsman,  reading  this  histo- 
ry, understand  me  fully,  let  him  either  sing  or 
play  or  imagine  the  old  and  stately  numbers  of 
that  tune,  freight  the  harmony  with  Miss  Bar- 
bauld's  words,  and  so  catch  the  other  meaning 
that  they  had  to  our  young  hearts.  Else  he 
may  judge  me  foolishly  profane. 


13 


"  Last  stanza !"  shouted  Arthur  Alfred,  with  a 
stamp  of  his  foot  and  features  illumed  with  de- 
light. 

"Nor  shall  the  glowing  flame  expire 
When  Nature  droops  her  sickening  fire  ; 
Then  shall  they  meet  in  realms  above — 
A  heaven  of  joy,  because  of  love." 

"  That  was  fine  ;  we  are  doing  gloriously  !" 
cried  the  master.  "  Ten  minutes'  recess." 

I  turned  my  eyes  fully  now  on  the  sweet  face  at 
my  side.  Surely  none  of  the  dark  shadows  that 
have  since  intervened  between  that  face  and  me, 
no  threatenings  of  the  tragedies  that  have  since 
clouded  it  from  my  view,  were  visible  then.  We 
two  did  not,  for  a  brief  moment,  rise,  as  others 
were  doing,  in  happy  confusion,  all  about  us. 
Strange  to  say,  our  hands  were  clasped,  and  we 
knew  it  not.  It  seemed  a  happy  eternity,  those 
mere  instants  of  time  that  we  sat  there,  till  sud- 
denly we  were  interrupted  by  the  master  ap- 
proaching. 

"  Good  -  evening.  Miss  Holyoke,  I  believe?" 
Mary  snatched  her  hand  free  from  mine,  and 
sprung  to  her  feet  blushing.  God  help  me  to 
believe  that  he  had  not  detected  our  hands 
clasped.  I  want  to  think  as  well  of  him  as  I  can. 
Heaven  knows  that  he  is  in  much  need  of  char- 
ity, wherever  in  the  universe  he  wanders.  No  ! 
He  had  but  rarely  met  me  before,  for  I  had  only 
occasionally  attended  upon  his  school,  being  a 


14 


pupil  of  Pepper's  the  preceding  season.  I  have 
recorded,  however,  that  I  frequently  left  Mary 
Holyoke  at  his  school  at  East  Brook  district 
school-house.  He  must  have  known  that. 

"Mr.  Felton !"  murmured  Mary,  in  recogni- 
tion; but  really  she  gave  him  no  further  wel- 
come than  any  lady  might  properly  have  accord- 
ed a  comparative  stranger.  I  am  sure  of  that, 
am  I  not  ?  God  help  me,  I  cannot  tell !  I  have 
thought  of  this  so  much  that  at  times  my  memo- 
ry seems  like  a  fire  burning  in  the  woods,  as  I 
have  seen  it  in  late  October,  turning  everything 
into  little  black  scrolls  or  heaps  of  ashes.  The 
man  did  not  address  me,  surely.  Mary  noticed 
this,  and  attempted,  like  a  true  lady,  to  insist 
upon  an  introduction. 

"This  is  our  neighbor — " 

"  Miss  Holyoke,"  he  persisted,  "  you  must  sit 
here  on  the  left  of  the  main  aisle  after  recess. 
Really,  your  voice  is  as  sweet  as—"  But  he  did 
not  quite  dare  to  finish  his  soft  compliment. 
There  was  something  in  her  aspect  that  made 
him  pause.  I  could  have  told  him  that  that  was 
not  the  way,  by  bold  assault,  to  approach  her 
heart.  On  the  pause  she  pulled  me  in  again. 

"Our  neighbor,  Mr.  Elisha  Stone,  Mr.  Felton." 

He  turned  a  sharp  glance  on  me,  which  was  yet 
not  rude,  and  tossed  to  me. 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Stone.  Let's  see;  you 
are  a  bass  voice,  I  believe.  Gentlemen  turn  out 
pretty  well  at  this  school,  better  than  in  most  in- 


15 


stances.  The  ladies  are  usually  in  the  large  ma- 
jority. Reside  in  this  district,  Mr.  Stone  ?" 

Yet  all  the  while,  had  it  been  written  on  his 
brow,  I  could  have  read  it  no  more  plainly  that 
he  was  measuring  me,  and  I  now  believe  had 
been  thinking  about  me,  at  the  side  of  this  bright 
lady,  for  the  last  hour.  I  felt  it  all  now.  Of 
course  he  had.  He  had  certainly  marked  her 
presence,  with  inward  satisfaction,  from  the  very 
first  moment  of  calling  the  school  to  order.  He 
had  resolved  to  make  much  of  the  little  previous 
acquaintance  with  her  promptly  on  recess.  No 
wonder  at  that,  for  she  was  the  fairest  in  the 
room — a  fine  voice  and  a  rich  man's  daughter. 
Had  he  not  instantly  stepped  down  from  the  plat- 
form to  take  her  hand  ?  Had  he  not  brushed  by 
the  committee,  who  even  now  were  standing  at 
his  back,  awaiting  him  with  some  important  busi- 
ness of  this  first  night  of  the  school  ? 

Still  I  was  not  a  fool,  but  a  patient,  strong 
man ;  confident,  too,  after  my  many  years  waiting 
by  my  faith  in  her.  That  is,  almost  confident,  I 
say.  We  had  not  actually  spoken  the  word;  no, 
no,  that  is  true;  let  me  do  them  both  justice.  It 
was  only  the  music  and  hymn  that  had  spoken. 

"  The  school  supplies  a  social  want  in  a  rural 
community,"  I  answered,  taking  up  the  idea  ex- 
pressed by  him,  and  we  shook  hands.  "We  shall 
have  a  fine  winter  with  you,  I  trust,  Mr.  Felton." 

He  did  not  respond  to  me;  I  would  not  like  to 
say  that  he  ignored  me,  but  he  dropped  my  hand, 


16 


placed  his  own  two  hands  wide  apart,  on  the  back 
of  the  settee  in  front  of  us,  and  wearing  a  charm 
in  his  fine  face,  which  came  like  a  flash  of  the  sun- 
rise the  moment  his  eyes  turned  to  hers,  he  re- 
sumed : 

"  We  shall  certainly  expect  you,  Miss  Holyoke, 
to  allow  us  your  leadership.  Nature  has  gifted 
you;  and  in  many  ways — pardon  me.  I  shall  not 
take  no  for  an  answer  !  On  the  main  aisle,  please, 
after  recess.  Remember  that  I  am  master  here," 
he  rounded  up,  laughing  playfully,  "  and  my  word 
is  law." 

"  You  certainly  must  excuse  me." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  answered.  "  Now 
that  is  settled — first  of  the  sopranos." 

"  But  Miss  Cynthia  Littlewood  had  that  post 
of  honor  in  your  school  at  this  hall  last  season. 
I  am  a  new-comer.  See,  Miss  Littlewood  is 
watching  us  now  with  a  jealous  eye.  She  has  sat 
at  the  first  place  all  this  evening.  Did  you  not 
put  her  there  ?" 

Arthur  Alfred  Felton  turned  to  look.  A 
thoughtful,  puzzled  expression  thickened  on  his 
face.  It  was  all  a  matter  of  last  winter's  history. 
I  confess  I  knew  very  little  about  it.  He  was  re- 
viewing it  all  in  that  one  moment  as  he  looked  at 
Cynthia  Littlewood.  There  stood  the  girl,  twenty 
feet  away,  tall,  black  and  glossy  hair,  complexion 
of  marble,  dark  eyes,  flashing  one  moment  and 
softening  the  next,  regarding  us. 

Horace  Parkridge,  her  escort,  was  in  vain  talk- 


17 


ing  to  her  pretty  ear  that  was  towards  him. 
Here  had  been  a  history;  the  village  had  talked 
of  it.  Some  said  there  would  yet  be  a  tragedy. 
I  remember  that  I  told  "  Hod  "  Parkridge  to  be- 
ware; that  a  girl's  first  love  was  likely  to  burn 
long,  like  smouldering  fire  in  spring  turf.  But 
the  summer  had  followed,  and  the  student  teacher 
had  gone  back  to  his  months  of  books  at  the  col- 
lege. At  the  June  training  and  the  Fourth-of- 
July  ride  that  we  had  Cynthia  had  accepted 
Horace's  invitations.  Would  to  heaven  they  had 
been  wed,  as  at  one  time  it  was  supposed  they 
would  be,  at  Thanksgiving  ! 

"  Ah  !  Miss  Littlewood,  indeed."  And  Fel- 
ton  put  his  long  white  forefinger  to  his  lips;  then 
throwing  up  his  hands  in  a  fine  gesture,  he  con- 
tinued, decisively,  "No,  that  is  all  right.  You 
are  the  first  soprano;  I  want  you  near;  I  can  ar- 
range everything  in  a  moment."  And,  shaking 
both  his  hands  in  front  of  him  deprecatingly,  he 
moved  over  to  offer  his  first  welcome  of  the  even- 
ing to  Miss  Cynthia.  Instantly  her  marble  face, 
at  his  approach,  was  as  warm  as  a  sunset  in  hay- 
ins:  time.  » 


CHAPTER  II 

"  WHAT  in  chain  lightning  does  the  fellow  want 
of  both  of  them  ?"  growled  Horace  Parkridge  as 
soon  as  we  were  called  to  order  again  and  fairly 
seated.  We  had  not  had  time  to  open  our  books 
before  he  had  accosted  me. 

"  Hush,  Hod,"  I  whispered  back  to  him  behind 
my  raised  Bradbury  as  he  sat  in  the  next  row. 

"  I  am  leaning  forward  so  that  no  one  but  you 
can  hear,"  he  fairly  hissed.  His  breath  was  hot 
as  he  spoke.  "  Tell  me  what  his  power  is  that  he 
can  gain  their  consent  like  that.  There  is  Miss 
Holyoke  in  Cynthia's  place  and  Cynthia  on  the 
next  seat  in  the  second  place  as  submissive  as  a 
lamb.  He  has  tact  or  some  wonderful  power,  has 
he  not?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  wait  till  some  other  time.  Do  not 
say  anything  more,  Horace.  I  myself  advised 
Miss  Holyoke  to  take  her  place." 

"Gosh!    You  did!" 

An  hour  later  Parkridge  and  I  were  buttoning 
on  our  buffalo  coats  and  descending  the  stairs  with 
the  other  men  to  get  our  teams.  As  we  stepped 
into  the  lower  hall,  through  the  open  door,  it 
struck  us  full  in  the  face — the  storm. 


19 


"  Here  it  comes,  a  regular  mountaineer !"  cried 
Parkridge,  lowering  his  head. 

"You  at  least  ought  not  to  complain  of  this 
after  your  winter  at  the  north  pole,"  I  replied, 
catching  breath. 

The  boy  had  served  two  years  at  Annapolis  ; 
but  for  some  prank  he  had  fallen  into  disgrace 
and  our  Congressman  had  got  the  poor  cadet  a 
place  on  Captain  Kane's  last  polar  expedition. 
Let's  see,  have  I  mentioned  this  before  ?  I  think 
not.  And  did  I  put  it  on  record  that  he  was 
our  minister's  son  ?  Elder  Parkridge  was  both 
preacher  and  farmer,  so  when  Horace  came  home 
from  the  polar  expedition,  worn  and  starved  to  a 
skeleton,  and  his  gentle  mother  had  taken  him 
again  in  her  arms,  as  if  he  were  a  baby,  it  won  the 
wild  boy's  heart  anew;  for  his  mother's  sake,  at 
any  rate,  he  had  turned  farmer,  and  sobered  down 
to  work  the  old  place.  He  might  well  do  so,  be- 
ing the  parson's  only  child.  But  how  long  he 
would  continue  in  such  a  quiet  life  I  had  often 
doubted.  He  had  almost  a  possession  of  the 
devil  as  we  went  down-stairs  together. 

"  This  is  going  to  be  as  hard  a  storm  as  ever 
struck  us  beyond  the  North  Cape,  my  neighbor," 
said  Horace.  "  I  know  these  Vermont  mountains ; 
I  have  predicted  this  for  the  last  two  days  of 
clear  weather.  Did  you  ever  see  such  transparent 
air  and  brilliant  sunlight  as  we  have  had  ?  That 
means  the  mischief  to  pay.  This  morning  also 
the  northern  lights,  as  I  went  out  to  fodder  the 


20 


sheep,  made  the  whole  heavens  luminous.  Such 
tongues  of  white  fire  !  Such  rushing  and  snap- 
ping in  the  zenith,  till  the  sheep  looked  up  fairly 
frightened.  I  knew  what  such  signs  meant." 

"  Let  us  keep  together  on  our  way  up  the  north 
road,"  said  I,  as  we  ducked  our  heads  and  ran  for 
the  horse-sheds. 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied,  while  we  were  unhal- 
tering.  "  Now  look  at  the  horses:  they  shake  and 
start  with  fear.  It  is  animal  instinct  foretelling 
what  a  night  we  are  to  have.  Wish  you  were  in 
your  warm  stable,  don't  you,  Princess,"  patting 
his  sorrel  filly  on  the  neck.  "  See  here,"  the  boy 
added,  holding  in  his  curb  as  a  moment  later  we 
were  seated  in  our  sleighs  and  the  horses  were 
rearing  to  get  off — "see  here,  Stone,  our  first  duty 
is,  of  course,  to  get  home,  but  I  want  to  thank 
you  for  your  invitation  up  to  your  apple  -  paring. 
I'll  be  there ;  and  now  I  have  some  serious  things 
to  counsel  with  you  about,  as  a  shipmate.  Our 
farms  are  side  by  side;  that  is,  father's  and  yours. 
Now,  my  boy,  this  gentleman,  Felton — " 

"Not  now,  Hod.  We  want  to  get  through  this 
storm." 

"  Whoa  !  Yes,  sir.  But  it  is  now,  neighbor  ! 
In  the  teeth  of  this  gale  I  want  to  speak  and  say 
what's  on  my  heart." 

"No;  we  are  fools  to  wait  five  minutes." 

"  Well,"  he  shouted,  as  I  began  to  move  off, 
"  is  he  going  to  try  the  drive  to  West  Village 
depot  to-night  ?" 


21 


"  Yes,  siree  !"  came  singing  on  the  wind  in  pat 
reply  as  the  gayest  sleigh  in  all  the  county 
backed  out  of  the  shed  just  behind  us. 

"  It  is  Felton  !"  I  exclaimed,  under  my  breath, 
pulling  up  my  team  to  warn  Horace  against  talk- 
ing too  loud.  "  Felton  has  a  livery  team  from 
the  hotel  at  the  West  Village.  Quick  he  is. 
Don't  catch  him  napping  for  the  sake  of  cour- 
tesies and  good-byes  on  such  a  night." 

"  Was  he  alone?"  bawled  Horace. 

"  Yes,  alone  to-night,"  the  same  voice  cried,  as 
its  owner,  having  turned  around,  dashed  away, 
the  runners  cutting  the  crust  like  the  tearing  of 
cotton  cloth. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  hotspur  will  dare  ?'' 
asked  Horace  of  me. 

"Try  to  slip  across  the  Round  Pond,"  I  answered. 

"Yes,  and  perish  !"  I  caught  from  Horace's  lips 
as  we  parted  to  go  around  to  the  front.  There 
was  savage  exultation  in  his  tone.  Heaven  for- 
give the  boy;  and  a  preacher's  son,  too  !  But  do 
not  lions  rend  each  other  for  the  sake  of  the  mate 
that  one  of  them  would  steal  ?  Nothing  so 
rouses  the  fierceness  of  a  man's  nature  as  to  be 
crossed  in  a  love  affair. 

The  menacing  roar  of  the  wind  gave  me  little 
time  for  moralizing.  I  soon  had  Mary  Holyoke 
springing  over  my  sleigh  robe  to  my  side. 

"Can  we  ever  face  this  wind?"  asked  Mary, 
as  we  tucked  ourselves  into  the  sleigh,  snatching 
at  the  robes  which  the  gale  disputed. 


22 


"  Still  we  must  if  we  are  ever  to  get  home,"  I 
answered,  trying  to  be  cheerful  about  it,  but  I 
now  record  here  that  in  all  my  life  I  had  never 
confronted  such  a  whirlwind  in  snow. 

As  we  were  creeping  along  in  front  of  the 
hotel  through  the  haze  I  heard  a  voice  shouting 
out  for  general  information  apparently  and  the 
pleasure  of  telling  startling  news  :  "  Telegram  at 
the  post-office! — hurricane — no  trains- — Albany 
buried,"  and  similar  direful  tidings  as  I  was  able 
to  catch  it  through  the  crying  of  the  storm. 
There  were  knots  of  excited  villagers  gathered  on 
the  steps  of  the  hotel  already,  as  along  the  sea- 
coast  the  hardy  fishermen  gather  to  watch  for 
distressed  sails. 

"  Who  says  '  telegraphic  news  ?' "  demanded  a 
ringing  voice  behind  me. 

"  Hod  Parkridge,  is  that  you  ?"  I  asked,  recog- 
nizing him.  "See  here,  old  fellow,  you  and  I 
simply  must,  on  our  lives,  keep  together  up  this 
road." 

"  True,  'Lish,  but  let's  get  this  bulletin  here. 
You  know  I  have  been  in  the  government  service, 
and  something  weighty  has  come  over  the  wires 
even  to  our  little  village.  Say,  men,  there  ! 
Give  us  the  latest  despatch." 

" 'Tis  a  special  to  the  Gazette"  yelled  a  voice 
from  the  piazza  in  response. 

The  Gazette  was  our  little  village  news  sheet. 
It  was  made  up  for  the  most  part  of  the  record  of 
big  potatoes,  weddings,  and  engagements,  with  a 


23 


precious  small  lot  of  news  from  the  outer  world. 
It  rarely  had  any  telegrams,  except  when  our  vil- 
lage autocrat,  the  politician  in  those  parts,  paid 
for  election  news.  Therefore  a  telegram  at  other 
times  indicated  a  national  sensation  in  shape  of 
some  great  calamity  abroad.  The  officious  vil- 
lager waddled  down  to  the  sleigh  readily  enough, 
partly  because  he  wished  to  be  obliging,  and  also 
because,  if  we  were  to  hear  him  at  all — the  little, 
fat,  wheezy  fellow — he  must  come  to  the  side  of 
our  vehicles,  and  then  gasped  out  to  us  the  general 
information  that  a  telegram  had  been  received 
from  the  West  Village  that  there  were  no  trains 
up  from  White  River  Junction  since  noon,  there 
were  no  Boston  mails,  and  that  a  regular  hurri- 
cane was  stretching  all  the  way  from  here  to  New 
York,  Albany,  Buffalo,  "  and  Timbuctoo,"  as  he 
said.  He,  moreover,  went  on  to  declare  that 
"  'Twas  one  o'  them  things  that  his  boy  Jack,  out 
West,  called  a  bluzzard.  Then  he  added,  between 
wheezes :  "  Better  stop  and  put  up  the  gals  here 
in  town,  for  you  never  c'n  get  hum." 

"  Oh  no,  never  !"  exclaimed  Mary. 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  put  in  Cynthia.  "  Let  us 
drive  on.  We  girls  are  Vermonters." 

"You  will  need  to  be  polar  bears,  my  dears,'' 
said  Parkridge,  thoughtfully,  "to  endure  the 
north  road  six  or  seven  miles  on  such  a  night  as 
this.  Still—" 

"G'over  to  my  house,  friends,"  said  the  kind- 
hearted  villager,  in  a  neighborly  way.  "  I  know 


24 


how  particler  folks  is  about  talking,  and  no  doubt 
'twon't  ever  do  for  the  girls  to  stay  here  away 
from  home." 

"  Oh  no,  no ?  What  would  father  and  mother  do 
if  I  didn't  come  home?"  urged  Mary.  "  Let's  take 
all  the  risks.  We  certainly  can  make  the  road. 
Your  colts,  boys,  are  the  best  in  the  county." 

That  touch  as  to  the  colts  brought  the  mettle 
both  to  my  arms  and  to  Horace's,  I  am  sure.  Of 
course  our  colts  were  able.  In  another  instant 
we  both  had  reached  over  and  just  laid  a  touch 
of  the  whip  with  the  slightest  caress  on  the  flanks 
of  our  two  mares,  and  we  were  off.  My  colt,  I 
am  sure,  had  never  felt  more  of  the  lash  than  that 
in  her  life,  and  I  doubt  if  she  ever  had  so  much, 
except  upon  one  occasion,  since  she  was  broken. 
Ah,  how  we  sprang  out  into  those  drifts  !  But  it 
was  impossible  to  keep  that  pace  for  five  rods  in 
the  face  of  the  gale.  It  would  slow  down  a  steam- 
engine. 

"  It  is  hard  to  breathe,"  gasped  Mary,  as  she 
leaned  towards  me  behind  her  muff. 

I  threw  the  great  black  bear-skin  robe  clean 
over  her  shapely  head,  and  drew  her  up  close  to 
me.  It  made  my  heart  leap  wilder  than  the  colt 
to  be  conscious  of  her  precious  self  so  near  to  my 
person. 

"  Better  walk,"  bawled  Horace  a  few  minutes 
later  from  behind.  The  nose  of  his  filly  was 
spouting  steam  on  our  shoulders,  and  the  red  skin 
in  her  nostrils  seemed  bursting  its  blood-vessels. 


25 


The  moon's  full  yellow  light,  behind  this  thick 
bank  of  cloud  and  snow,  loaned  to  the  whole 
weird  night  an  ashen  gray  color,  which  was 
ghastly,  so  that  it  was  by  no  means  dark.  It 
was  worse  than  dark  ;  it  was  that  hobgoblin 
light  which  one  only  sees  in  storms  when  the 
moon  is  behind  a  cloud. 

"No,  Horace;  we  shall  perish  walking.  The 
wind  is  in  our  backs.  We  certainly  can  try  to 
trot,"  I  urged;  and  we  both  speeded  up  a  little. 

"So  many  ghosts  in  the  air.  This  is  simply 
sublime  !"  whispered  Mary.  The  girl  was  gamy, 
and  kept  trying  to  talk. 

The  sweep  of  the  snow  was  highly  exciting. 
One  lost  his  consciousness  of  danger  once  in  a 
Avhile  in  watching  the  streamers  of  white  that  fell 
like  handfuls  of  grain  flying  out  of  a  sower's 
hand  in  the  furrows  ;  handfuls  on  handfuls  of 
this  cutting  powder,  as  if  the  Almighty  himself 
were  sowing  the  earth — these  furrowed  hills  and 
vales — with  the  chill  of  death.  The  cold  came 
down  on  us  by  handfuls,  colder,  colder,  every 
minute. 

"I  hear  the  roaring  of  the  pines,"  murmured 
Mary,  just  below  my  ear.  "That  is  two  miles 
certainly,  and  only  four  miles  more  to  home. 
But  is  it  not  fearful,  the  voices  of  the  old 
trees  ?" 

"If  the  chestnuts  in  among  those  hemlocks 
will  only  keep  their  precious  branches  to  them- 
selves, they  may  bellow  all  they  please." 


26 


"  Look  out,  there  !"  Horace  shouted.  "  Heavens, 
see  that  old  chestnut  come  down  !" 

"And  the  hemlock  just  behind  it !"  cried  Cyn- 
thia's shrill  voice.  "  God  protect  us  !  Boys,  we 
must  not  attempt  to  go  through  the  woods.  Turn 
down  the  left  towards  the  lake,  and  we  will  get 
under  the  cliff." 

"  Right,  my  lady  ;  we  have  no  choice,  for  the 
road  is  blocked,"  I  answered.  "  But  it  is  a  seri- 
ous question  if  we  can  turn  around." 

Indeed,  it  was  no  easy  matter.  It  seemed  at 
first  simply  impossible  to  turn  back  to  the  south- 
west and  confront  this  tornado.  The  instant  I 
threw  my  foot  clear  of  the  robe  to  get  out,  the 
wind  stripped  the  bear-skin  from  the  sleigh.  There 
was  a  shower  of  sparks  and  the  flash  of  fire.  Our 
new-fashioned  foot-stove  was  overturned.  The 
lamp  in  it — a  new-fangled  patent  thing  not  half 
so  good  as  the  warm  soapstone  or  brick  —  had 
ignited  the  fur  of  the  robe.  The  next  moment 
the  robe  was  three  rods  away  on  the  wind,  and 
as  I  leaped  after  it  to  catch  it,  where  it  had  been 
swept  into  the  branches  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  I 
heard  a  shriek  behind,  and  looked  to  see  that  my 
sleigh  had  been  overturned. 

"  I  have  got  your  colt,"  yelled  Horace,  and  the 
dear  fellow  had  promptly  sprung  to  save  my 
mare. 

"  Can  you  hold  the  two  horses?"  I  answered ;  "  I 
will  be  there  in  a  minute."  And,  indeed,  I  was 
as  back  quickly  as  I  could  bound.  I  got  the 


27 


mare  by  the  nose.  "Now  slowly,  Mary.  Are 
you  hurt?" 

"No;  all  right,     Whoa!" 

"Cynthia,  you  can  rein  my  horse  around.  Easy, 
easy.  There,  hold  her.  Here  Elisha,"  and  Horace 
handed  me  the  lines  of  my  animal.  I  righted  my 
sleigh  and  hung  to  my  horse.  Mary  flew  back  to 
her  place,  and  nestled  under  the  covers.  Then  we 
began  that  most  trying  quarter  of  a  mile  of  re- 
treat along  the  edge  of  the  woods — the  most  try- 
ing, I  say,  in  my  remembrance  of  any  contest  I 
ever  had  with  nature. 

"  The  windward  of  these  woods  is  not  as  quiet 
as  the  lee  would  be,"  yelled  Horace  —  he  tried 
to  be  good-natured  and  keep  up  the  conversation 
— "but  it  is  better  than  the  open;  breaks  the  wind. 
Courage;  just  as  soon  as  we  get  down  by  the  cliff, 
even  the  windward  of  the  rocks  will  be  quite 
bearable." 

That  was  true  enough,  as  we  soon  experienced, 
but  the  gigantic  drifts  were  now  more  appalling 
almost  than  any  other  object  we  had  met  upon 
the  way.  The  masses  of  the  pelting  snow,  hurled 
back  from  the  black  front  of  the  rocks,  piled  at 
their  feet  so  high  that  it  was  simply  out  of  the 
question  to  attempt  to  keep  to  the  highway. 
Far  up  the  front  of  the  craggy  masses,  on  shelf 
and  shoulder  of  the  ledges,  wreaths  and  festoons 
in  fantastic  shapes  of  white  reminded  me  of  the 
stories  that  I  used  to  hear  about  these  cliffs  by 
Round  Pond  when  I  was  a  boy.  They  said  the 


28 


eagles  made  their  nests  there,  though  I  had  never 
seen  an  eagle  in  my  day.  In  the  ashen  light  a 
score  of  eagles  seemed  bending  their  beaks  and 
flapping  their  wings,  ready  to  swoop  down  upon 
us  with  some  uncanny  salutation. 

As  the  gale  went  roaring  over  the  tops  of  the 
cliffs  it  uttered  peculiar  cries,  almost  human 
moans,  and  these  frightened  the  girls  all  the  more, 
and  almost  cowed  our  hearts. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Mary,  piteously; 
"  perish  here  not  four  miles  from  home?" 

"  I  say !"  cried  Horace,  just  then. 

"  Well !"  I  baAvled  back  to  him,  at  my  wit's  end, 
I  confess. 

"  I  will  get  out  and  lead  your  horse.  You  take 
mine  by  the  bridle  over  the  back  of  your  sleigh, 
and  I  will  show  you  Crocker's  lane.  We'll  turn 
down  through  that  and  over  the  railroad  when 
we  come  to  the  pond.  Well — then — is  your  horse 
sharp  shod  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  So  is  Princess.  Then,  of  course,  we  will  be  all 
right.  We'll  have  a  highway  swept  clean  of  the 
snow  all  the  way  to  West  Village,  where  we'll 
probably  have  to  spend  the  night."  And  prompt- 
ly the  Polar  explorer  began  his  task  at  the  head 
of  my  animal. 

It  was  half  an  hour's  good  work  to  get  down  on 
the  railroad,  and  from  that  to  the  ice,  but  we  did 
it  at  length.  Once  on  the  surface  of  the  lake  our 
track  was  clear.  A  blue-black  surface,  transpar- 


ent  as  still  water  is  when  frozen,  lay  before  us, 
swept  as  a  turkey's-wing  duster  would  sweep  it. 
Nothing  but  a  calked  shoe  would  have  held  on 
that  road.  The  storm  pushed  the  sleighs  at  an 
angle  as  the  horses  pulled  them  forward.  The 
right  runner  spun  sideways  along  the  track.  I 
was  in  constant  apprehension  of  some  nodule, 
some  roughness,  or  a  crack.  To  strike  that  "  side 
on,"  as  Horace  expressed  it,  would  be  instant  de- 
struction, for  we  should  be  hurled  to  the  icy  pave- 
ment with  the  force  of  a  cannon-ball.  However, 
no  such  untoward  event  transpired,  and  we  were 
quite  felicitating  ourselves  upon  our  escape  when 
suddenly  Horace  cried  out: 

«  Look  there  !" 

It  was  one  of  those  fierce  vocal  sounds  which  a 
man  utters  rarely  in  a  lifetime,  freighted  with 
terror  and  alarm  and  heart  sympathy.  The  boy 
was  rising  up  in  his  sleigh  and  pulling  at  the  lines 
with  all  his  might  to  bring  Princess  to  a  halt.  I 
shot  to  his  side  like  a  flash  of  light ;  before  I  could 
begin  to  rein  in,  our  sleighs  locked  at  the  rave, 
and  we  slewed  into  the  drift  along  the  bank  to- 
gether, the  colts  in  a  tangle,  and  we  stopped. 

"There's  Felton's  sleigh— what  is  left  of  it!" 
yelled  Horace,  pointing  with  his  big  gloved  fore- 
finger through  the  gloom  ahead. 

"  Yes,"  I  gasped;  "he  has  caught  his  runner  in 
that  crack.  We  narrowly  escaped  it.  But  where 
is  the  trotter  that  he  drove  ?" 

"Sure  enough,  where?"  asked  Cynthia,  uncov- 


30 


ering  her  head,  her  whole  heart  in  her  tone  of 
alarm.  "  And  where  is  the  teacher  ?" 

I  did  not  myself  fancy  the  tone  of  too  tender 
solicitude  in  which  the  girl  spoke,  but  the  effect 
on  me  was  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  its  effect 
on  Horace  Parkridge's  quick  ear.  Still  my  turn 
was  to  come.  Mary  Holyoke  now  unhooded  her- 
self to  the  blast,  asking,  in  pretty  trepidation  : 
"Boys,  can  we  not  find  him  ?  Is  he? — do  you?  It 
cannot  be  that  he  has  perished  in  the  drifts." 

"What  is  that  white  mound  in  its  winding- 
sheet  of  snow  ?"  asked  Cynthia,  her  dark  eyes  full 
of  a  lustre  that  I  feared  her  heart  inspired. 

In  a  twinkling  Horace  was  running  ahead  tow- 
ards the  object  designated.  With  a  few  quick 
strokes  he  uncovered  it.  Simultaneously  a  low 
but  piteous  moan  came  faintly  through  the  mist, 
and  I  recognized  it  as  the  cry  of  an  animal  in 
pain.  I  was  prepared  to  hear  him  call  out:  "  It  is 
his  horse,  with  a  broken  leg." 

"Almost  better  if  it  were  himself,"  was  Cyn- 
thia's plaintive  comment.  "  Where  is  the  rnan  ? 
Off  there  alone,  struggling  to  cross  the  pond  ?  If  so, 
is  he  slowly  dying,  and  no  human  helper  near  him?" 

Returning  to  the  sleighs,  Horace  stood  thought- 
fully kicking  heel  against  toe,  and  peering  off 
into  the  waste  of  the  lake  at  our  left.  Nothing 
was  said,  yet  I  knew  that  he  was  regarding  both 
Cynthia  and  Mary  fully  as  much  as  he  was  scan- 
ning the  ice,  though  lie  seemed  to  be  looking  past 
both  of  the  girls. 


31 


"Boys,"  exclaimed  Cynthia,  at  length,  "you 
will  make  some  effort  ?  You  will  not  sit  here  and 
allow  a  fellow-man  to  perish  without  an  effort  for 
his  rescue  ?" 

"  What  about  two  pretty  girls,  daughters  of  our 
neighbors,  whom  we  have  invited  to  go  to  the 
sino-insr-school,  and  who  will  need  rescue  if  we  halt 

o       o  * 

here  five  minutes  more  in  this  death  blast?" 
Horace  replied,  sternly,  resolutely. 

"Oh,  never  mind  us,"  she  replied;  "we  can 
both  creep  along  down  to  old  Crocker's  cottage. 
One  of  you — Elisha,  for  instance — would  be  will- 
ing to  lead  one  of  the  horses,  and  we  could  both 
of  us  occupy  one  of  the  sleighs." 

I  did  not  speak.  In  fact,  I  knew  too  well  the 
futility  of  any  skill  of  mine  in  that  hurricane.  If 
anybody  could  do  anything  it  was  this  man, 
trained  amid  northern  wildernesses  of  the  winter. 
The  silence  seemed  long.  Horace  was  still  stand- 
ing, his  fur  cap  now  removed,  however,  and  his 
handsome  forehead  bared  to  the  wind,  as  if  to 
cool  its  fever. 

At  length  he  said  slowly,  answering  Cynthia 
Littlewood:  "  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  for 
you.  Do  you,  indeed,  wish  me  to  make  the  haz- 
ardous attempt  to  find  Felton?" 

There  was  such  a  world  of  meaning  in  his  tone 
that  the  girl  might — for  the  honor  of  human  na- 
ture she  might — have  interpreted  it.  Perhaps  she 
did;  but  if  she  did  in  her  heart,  she  did  not  in  her 
speech.  She  w§,s  not  good  enough  for  the  large- 


32 


hearted  fellow,  the  black-eyed  beauty.  She  turned 
towards  Mary  and  myself,  and  asked,  in  a  weak 
way,  "  What  do  you  say,  Mary  Holyoke  ?" 

"It  seems  a  terrible  thing  to  ask  any  human 
creature  to  do,"  was  Mary's  response,  "yet — " 
Then  she  too  paused. 

We  waited  in  silence  again,  and  we  bent  to  the 
storm.  It  was  not  long,  however,  but  in  such 
times  moments  seem  ages.  Looking  up  in  a  des- 
perate way,  Cynlhia  cried:  "Yes,  go  if  you — " 

Horace  put  up  his  hand  as  he  dropped  his  cap 
upon  his  head,  and  gravely  insisted  on  finishing 
her  sentence — "  If  I  love  you."  Then,  with  a 
quick  movement,  this  heroic  minister's  son  and 
friend  of  mine  lifted  Cynthia  bodily  from  his 
sleigh  into  ours.  I  leaped  out  upon  his  motion  to 
make  way  for  her,  and  stood  at  the  head  of  my 
horse.  In  another  moment  he  had  haltered  his 
own  horse,  and  handed  the  strap  to  Cynthia  for 
leading  the  animal  behind  my  sleigh.  Then  he 
caught  his  robes  out,  threw  them  in  front  of  the 
girls,  sprang  back,  snatched  his  lantern  from  under 
the  seat,  shouted  "  Good-bye,  God  help  you  and 
me,"  and  stole  away  through  the  gloom  out  on 
to  that  desolate  icy  surface. 

I  never  felt  before  that  I  was  consenting  to  any 
man's  death,  but  I  did  then.  I  upbraided  myself 
then,  and  I  do  now,  that  I  did  not  protest,  craven 
that  I  was.  But  my  thoughts  were  not  clear.  I 
was  either  benumbed  or  maddened  by  the  unmis- 
takable interest  that  Mary  Holyoke  had  shown 


in  this  lost  Felton,  this  gay  teacher  of  our  singing- 
school.  As  I  plodded  on  I  tried  to  excuse  her,  as 
if  her  gentle  pity  was  only  natural  to  a  woman 
who  thought  of  a  man  as  perishing,  but  my  wits 
told  me  better.  There  had  been  more  than  mere 
humane  feeling  in  Mary  Holyoke's  assent  and  en- 
couragement to  Horace  Parkridge's  heroic  en- 
deavor. I  felt  certain  that  had  she  not  been 
jealous  of  Cynthia  Littlewood's  interest,  if  she 
had  not  had  some  springing  love  for  the  same 
man  whom  Cynthia  loved,  she  would  have  been  as 
positive  as  Cynthia  in  openly  urging  Horace  or 
myself  to  go.  Was  there  ever  such  a  mix?  And 
Cynthia  recognized  that  fact  in  her  rival  also,  for 
when,  twenty  minutes  later,  I  got  the  girls  safely 
into  Crocker's  warm  kitchen,  I  saw  they  were 
jealous  of  each  other,  and  not  disposed  to  be 
friendly.  In  silence  we  sat  together  in  the  warmth 
of  that  hut,  looking  out  on  that  chaotic  lake, 
watching  more  for  the  gleam  of  the  lantern  than 
for  the  breaking  of  the  day. 

"  Hod  hates  the  singing-master.  I  just  know  he 
does  !"  sobbed  Cynthia,  in  her  half-hysterical  ex- 
citement, crouching  by  the  window.  "  I  hope  they 
will  not  get  into  a  quarrel  out  there  in  the  storm." 

I  could  have  boxed  her  ears  !  The  idea  of  a 
woman  who  had  sent  a  good  fellow  to  his  death, 
perhaps,  and  out  of  love  for  her  he  went,  taking 
tearful  pity  on  his  I'ival  like  that.  I  rather  hoped 
they  would,  indeed,  have  i\,  QUt  there  on  the  ice, 
all  by  themselves. 


34 


"  Boys  are  so  rough  !"  echoed  Mary  Holyoke 
from  her  window.  "  Especially  our  farm  boys. 
But  college  boys — now,  of  course,  they  are  more 
gentlemanly  than  to  fight." 

Then  I  wanted  to  box  her  ears  more  than  Cyn- 
thia's. 

Towards  morning  the  two  girls  slept  a  little, 
sitting  in  their  chairs.  I  did  not,  yet  I  always 
supposed  a  woman's  heart  was  more  generous 
than  a  man's,  and  would  keep  her  awake  in  a  kind 
vigil  longer.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  explain  it,  how- 
ever, by  saying  that  I  was  the  strongest  of  the 
three;  oi',  perhaps,  a  plain  man  like  me  did  not 
read  that  mystery  aright — a  woman's  heart.  It 
may  have  been  flirtation,  not  love  at  all.  At 
length  the  day  broke.  The  clouds  cleared  as  se- 
renely as  if  they  were  meshes  of  rent  cobwebs. 
The  sunlight  was  brilliant  and  cold.  The  land- 
scape was  dead.  Not  a  feather's-weight  of  snow 
was  drifting.  I  went  down  at  daybreak  and  saw 
the  sunrise,  revealing  the  further  shore  of  the 
lake,  the  factories,  the  huts  of  the  operatives, 
the  straggling  streets,  and  the  church  spires,  and 
between  them  and  me  the  wide  waste  of  uninter- 
rupted wilderness. 

There  were  no  tidings  for  my  anxious  eyes. 

My  first  duty  was,  undoubtedly,  to  return 
these  young  ladies  to  their  distressed  homes. 
This  I  proposed  to  myself  to  accomplish  by  the 
ox-sleds  that  broke  out  the  highways.  My  horse 
and  sleigh  would  be  useless  in  such  drifts,  About 


35 


nine  o'clock  I  got  them  both  safely  home  to  Mr. 
Holyoke's. 

"You,  Cynthia,  must  stay  here  at  Mary's 
house,"  I  said,  as  they  alighted  at  the  familiar 
horse-block.  "  The  hired  man  will  go  over  to 
your  father's  with  the  news  of  your  where- 
abouts." 

"And  ycni  ?"  she  asked. 

"You  must  go,"  Mary  Holyoke  interrupted 
promptly,  addressing  me;  "and  tell  poor  dear 
Mrs.  Parkridge  and  the  elder — " 

"  Tell  them  what  ?" 

"I  see,"  said  Mary;  "  what  can  you  tell  them 
yet  ?  Now,  let  me  think.  I  will  hang  out  a 
cloth  in  the  window  towards  their  house,  and 
they  will  send  over  their  man,  and  we  two  girls 
will  explain  what  a  hero  their  son  has  proved  to  be." 

This  was  decidedly  upon  the  supposition  that  I 
would  not  be  there.  It  greatly  relieved  me.  For 
I  knew  I  ought  to  be  off. 

"  His  mother  will  come  over  herself  to  learn  of 
her  precious  boy,"  remarked  Cynthia,  uneasily. 

Queer  girl  she;  tender  heart  and  cold  heart  are 
in  one  breast. 

"  If  I  thought  she  would,"  said  Mary,  "  I 
would  try  to  go  over  there.  Dear  heart,  she 
should  not  expose  herself  to  come  here.  Or, 
Elisha,  you  should  go." 

"  No,  give  me  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a  bit  of 
bacon,"  I  replied,  stepping  towards  the  kitchen, 
"  and  I  must  be  off  to  the  pond  again." 


36 


The  way  I  spoke  settled  it. 

The  white  cloth  was  hung  out  in  the  window 
at  once,  according  to  the  country  fashion  of  tele- 
graphing, to  accomplish  whatever  it  might  effect.  I 
had  observed  all  the  morning  that  the  strained  re- 
lations between  the  two  girls  had  increased.  They 
did  not  converse  with  each  other  except  through 
me.  They  both  waited  on  me  with  eager  hands 
and  impatient.  They  hurried  about.  They  both 
evidently  wished  me  to  be  gone  on  my  errand  of 
rescue.  But  Cynthia  made  more  haste  than 
Mary,  quickly  coming  with  plate  and  cup,  though 
she  was  in  her  neighbor's  cupboard  and  pantry. 
When  I  rose  to  go,  I  said,  as  I  yielded  to  a  sud- 
den impulse,  and  desperately  seized  Mary's  two 
hands — I  remember  well,  both  hands. 

"  Cynthia,  you  are  witness.  Mary  Holyoke 
and  Elisha  Stone  are  engaged  to  be  married  !" 

It  was  blunt  and  farmer-like,  I  confess ;  but  I 
had  endured  enough  of  agony  during  the  night, 
and  was  sure  I  knew  her  goodness  of  heart.  I 
would  save  her  from  any  infatuation — at  least 
« her.  The  other  silly  girl  might  do  what  she 
pleased  with  a  passing  fancy  for  a  dapper  form 
and  bewitching  courtier's  manner,  and  repent  of 
it  when  she  must,  but  this  one  I  would  save  to 
her  better  nature  on  the  spot. 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?"  and  such  a  gleam  of  satisfac- 
tion shone  in  Cynthia's  black  eyes,  as  she  ad- 
vanced as  quick  as  a  bird  ever  hopped  off  a  bough 
and  offered  to  kiss  Mary.  This  I  had  not  yet 


37 


dared  to  do  myself;  and  no  one  was  to  do  it,  it 
seemed,  for  Mary  drew  back  coldly,  repelling  us 
both. 

"  Engaged,  Elisha — Cynthia  !  Who  says  so  ?" 
objected  Mary. 

"  You  will  say  so,"  I  answered. 

Mary  averted  her  face.  Cynthia  piqued  her  to 
assent  as  adroitly  as  a  fox  ever  drew  a  hunter's 
fire  by  instantly  crying  : 

"Well,  well,. Mary  Holyoke,  I  always  said  I 
knew  better.  The  neighborhood  said  it  would 
turn  out  so;  but  I  always  said  I  was  wiser,  and 
you  wouldn't  have  any  farmer  boy." 

"  You  were  very  wise,  Cynthia  Littlewood,"  she 
replied,  in  haughty  scorn.  For  a  moment  she  al- 
most ceased  to  struggle  with  my  hands,  as  if 
Cynthia's  thrust  had  carried  its  point. 

"  But  not  wise  enough  to  know  your  inten- 
tions ?  Humph !  You  will  not  say  him  yeSj 
now,"  said  the  black -eyed  minx. 

"  Miss  Littlewood  !"  exclaimed  Mary  Holyoke. 

It  Avould  have  felled  me  to  the  floor  to  have 
suffered  under  that  look  of  Mary  Holyoke's  eyes, 
and  that  tone  of  her  kindly  voice.  Cynthia 
laughed,  however.  She  had  the  most  musical 
laugh  of  any  mortal,  but  in  this  case  it  was  as  cold 
as  the  sunlight  that  fell  about  us  out-of-doors. 
She  was  losing  her  skill  rapidly,  for  she  immedi- 
ately added: 

"  No,  tell  him,  for  he  is  as  noble  as — as  Horace 
Parkridge — yes,  tell  him  what  I  have  not  yet  told 


88 


Horace  Parkridge,  but  what  you  ought  to  tell  Eli- 
sha  Stone  —  that  you  and  I  are,  like  two  simple- 
tons, in  love  with  Arthur  Alfred  Felton." 

"  Cynthia,  Cynthia,  are  you  crazy  ?"  The  blood 
mounted  to  Mary  Holyoke's  cheeks  as  if  she  had 
been  listening  to  some  vulgar  word  or  insult,  and 
the  one  hand  that  I  still  retained  struggled  to  free 
itself  to  fly  with  the  other,  which  was  putting  back 
the  straggling  locks  from  her  scarlet  brow.  Per- 
haps I  misinterpreted  her.  I  have  thought  it  over 
many,  many  hours  since  then.  I  should  have  un- 
derstood that  this  mantling  color  was  the  shock 
to  her  maidenly  modesty.  And  yet,  I  do  not 
know.  Perhaps  after  all  those  patient  years  I 
have  lost  my  own  patience.  But  the  grain  had 
seemed  so  ripe  for  the  cutting  only  fifteen  hours 
before,  when  we  sang  the  hymn  in  the  school.  A 
thousand,  thousand  times  since  then  I  have  been 
over  and  over  that  scene  there  in  the  kitchen,  and 
pictured  it  that,  at  Cynthia's  words,  Mary  gave 
me  both  her  dear  hands,  and  looked  up  into  my 
eyes  with  her  own  sweet  lips  speaking  some  reas- 
suring vows,  as  steadfast  as  the  eternal  hills,  and 
so  sheltering  herself  against  the  indelicacy  of  her 
fiery  friend's  open  declaration  of  an  improper 
thing.  I  have  pictured  it  over  and  over  that  I 
kissed  her  lips  then  and  there,  that  had  uttered 
the  vow  of  my  reassurance  and  my  happiness. 

But,  no;  it  was  far  from  that.  I  replied  indig- 
nantly to  the  Littlewood  girl,  and  looked  only  at 
her: 


39 


"You  simpletons,"  I  said,  "the  man  is  dead  I 
His  black  curls  are  under  the  ice." 

"  Never,  prophet  of  evil !"  Cynthia  exclaimed, 
her  voice  even  shrill,  though  it  was  too  sweet 
ever  to  be  shrill,  as  she  flung  herself  away  to  look 
out  of  the  window,  thinking  some  fresh  news 
might  have  come. 

Mary,  as  befitted  her  more  gentle  self,  said  : 
"  Oh,  God  forbid  !"  and  turned  towards  the  door. 

I  stepped  with  a  heavy  foot  in  front  of  her, 
opened  the  door,  and  left  her  standing  there  as  I 
went  out.  I  was  no  wooer  ;  I  ought  never  to  have 
gone  without  her  kiss.  I  was  a  fool.  I  strode 
along  past  the  wood-pile,  where  the  sawyers  were 
at  work  behind  the  horse-power,  and  shouted  : 

"  Come  on,  boys,  I  want  you  all  down  on  the 
lake.  We  have  lost  the  best  boy  in  town,  Horace 
Parkridge,  who  has  perished  in  the  storm." 

A  sharp  and  distressful  woman's  cry  came  from 
the  other  side  of  the  straggling  wood  -  pile.  It 
made  my  heart  stop.  I  turned.  There  was  the 
dear  little  gray-haired  woman,  Mrs.  Parkridge 
herself,  standing  in  the  path.  Her  huge,  raw- 
boned,  ungainly,  honest -hearted  husband,  the 
elder,  was  struggling  on  behind  her.  Lifting  up 
her  hands,  her  blue  eyes  searching  my  face,  she 
exclaimed,  "  My  precious  boy  !" 

It  shot  me  through  and  through.  The  dear, 
glorious  soul!  we  all  loved  her  gentle  ways.  We 
knew,  the  whole  counti'y-side  knew  it,  the  world 
of  sorrow  through  which  she  had  so  patiently 


40 


lived  by  her  calm  Christian  faith.  Not  a  home 
among  us  all,  where  sorrow  had  fallen,  that  she 
had  not  drawn  nigh,  and  said,  "My  dears,  I  know 
all  about  it !"  and  pointed  us  to  her  God.  All 
her  children,  except  this  one  boy  slept  on  the  hill- 
side yonder,  where  the  white  wall  of  marble  head- 
stones would  now  have  been  plainly  visible  but  for 
the  landscape  in  its  sheet  of  snow. 

"  Horace,  my  darling  !  Oh,  why — where — " 
These  were  some  of  the  other  words  that  she 
gasped  out,  her  beautiful  brow  knit  with  anxi- 
ety, her  wavy  gray  hair  fluttering  in  the  breeze, 
her  two  hands  clasped  pleadingly.  As  if  it  were 
necessary  by  any  prayer  of  hers  to  wring  from  me 
any  word  that  I  could  bring  to  her ! 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  soul !"  I  said  ;  "  I  am  sure 
Horace  is  safe."  May  Heaven  forgive  me  if  I 
told  what  I  did  not  believe.  "He  went  out  to 
search  for  Cynthia  Littlewood's  beau." 

A  glance  of  instant  intelligence  flashed  across 
her  features.  It  relieved  her  anxiety  apparently 
in  a  moment.  Her  hands  fell  at  her  sides.  She 
turned  a  moment  to  bestow  a  look  upon  her  hus- 
band, who  was  altogether  dependent  upon  her 
wits  for  every  guidance  when  in  her  company, 
and  then  back  to  me,  as  she  exclaimed: 

"  I  trust  to  God  that  my  boy  finds  Cynthia  Lit- 
tlewood's beau  !"  It  was  an  inexpressible  fervor 
that  accompanied  these  words,  and  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief at  the  end.  There  was  a  double  meaning  in 
the  words,  of  course. 


41 


"And  you  do  not  fear  for  your  son?"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Most  I  fear  for  him  if  lie  does  not  find  the 
music  -  teacher  alive,"  she  replied.  Then  she 
begged  for  the  narrative.  She  listened  quietly 
to  the  end,  and  then  said,  "Elisha  Stone,  good 
neighbor,  is  she  in  the  house  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  answered  ;  "  both  of  them  are  in  there." 

"Elisha,  God  only  knows  the  purpose  of  a  hu- 
man life  when  once  he  has  given  it  upon  this 
earth,  and  its  limits.  If  this  Mr.  Felton  is  in- 
deed alive,  and  recovered  by  my  dear  brave  boy, 
though  it  means  a  momentary  pang  to  dear  Hor- 
ace in  his  folly,  it  eventually  means  his  salvation, 
for  she  will  choose  the  teacher.  Please  Heaven, 
it  is  so  —  oh,  please  Heaven!  But  if  young 
Felton  has  perished,  then  begins  such  a  melan- 
choly life  of  misery  for  my  son.  The  boy  is  in- 
fatuated with  her.  You  know  how  hearty  and 
strong  he  is  in  all  his  pm-poses.  He  will  storm 
her  heart,  such  as  she  has.  He  will  marry  Cyn- 
thia Littlewood.  Oh,  father,  let  us  go  home  " — 
turning  to  her  husband — "and  pray  to  God  to 
spare  the  young  student  music-teacher's  life.  I 
could  pray  for  any  man's  life  for  his  own  sake ; 
but  for  this  one — oh,  God  spare !" 

It  took  me  all  aback.  I  had  been  half  hoping — 
dare  I  confess  it  here  on  this  confidential  page  ? — 
that  Felton  was  under  the  ice,  and  for  my  own 
reasons.  But  this  woman's  ken  read  the  possible 
future  in  a  different  way.  I  stood  silent,  trying 


42 


to  take  it  in.  Then,  just  as  I  saw  she  was  about 
to  retrace  her  steps  with  her  silent  husband,  I  said, 

"  Mrs.  Parkridge,  the  devil  has  been  whisper- 
ing to  me  quite  a  different — " 

"  Yes,  my  son,  yes,  I  know  " — she  called  us  all 
in  the  parish  her  sons  and  daughters — "  but  the 
Lord  speaks  a  different  whisper.  If  you  will  ex- 
cuse me,  not  only  may  this  young  man  be  alive 
for  his  own  sake,  for  I  fear  he  is  not  prepared  to 
die,  but  for  all  our  sakes,  and  especially  for 
Horace  Parkridge's  sake." 

I  can  see  it  all,  her  meaning  of  wise  foresight, 
at  this  distance  of  time,  but  not  then.  I  turned 
away,  leading  my  troop  of  volunteers  for  the 
search  over  the  ice,  a  weary  tramp  through  the 
drifts  down  to  the  distant  lake.  All  these  fellows 
were  kind-hearted  men,  and  they  chatted  as  we 
walked. 

"This'll  kinder  spoil  your  apple -parin'  nex' 
Thursday,  Stone,"  said  Tom  Calkins,  the  boss 
sawyer,  whom  I  knew  well. 

"  Oh,  man,"  I  growled,  "  it  upsets  everything 
for  the  winter." 

"How's  that?"  asked  Jim  Peabody,  our  cham- 
pion wrestler.  "  I  wanted  a  chance  with  that 
Dartmouth  College  feller.  They  say  he's  sci- 
ence in  the  gumnasium.  I  say,  Stone,  what  in 
tunket  is  a  gumnasium,  anyhow  ?" 

I  smiled  in  spite  of  myself,  I  remember,  at 
this  ignorance  of  common  things  in  this  son  of 
one  of  our  well-to-do  farmers. 


43 


"  I  have  no  heart  to  talk,  boys,"  I  replied. 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  Those  two  chaps  ain't  dead. 
You'll  hev  your  big  time  jest  the  same,  neighbor. 
All  the  north  district  is  coming." 


CHAPTER  III 

"HERE'S  a  crowd  off  on  the  Weatherboro 
Cove !"  shouted  Sawyer,  after  we  had  trudged  on 
for  more  than  an  hour. 

"  Yes  ;  and  they've  found  the  bodies,"  I  cried, 
springing  forward,  for  I  could  distinguish  by  the 
grouping  of  the  distant  men  that  they  were 
centred  about  a  particular  spot  upon  the  ice. 
With  a  wild  rush  AVC  sped  over  the  intervening 
distance  to  the  spot  where  a  knot  of  men  and 
boys  were  gathered,  and  towards  which  other 
searchers  were  streaming  in  from  different  sec- 
tions of  the  lake. 

"Hollo, neighbor  Stone!"  shouted  Smith  Green, 
one  of  our  prominent  farmers,  "  I  am  glad  to 
see  that  one  of  your  party  has  an  axe.  Chop 
right  down  here.  Come  here  !  See,  that  is  a 
human  head  bobbed  up  on  the  under  side  of  this 
'ere  ice.  Th'  ice  is  clear  as  glass  here,  and  mighty 
thin  too.  Them  pines  standin'  round  here  to  the 
southwest  allus  makes  this  as  gloomy  as  a  grave- 
yard. I  never  like  to  row  up  here,  or  skate  up 
here,  or  come  up  here,  and  how  in  creation  a 
feller  could  have  wandered  up  here  thinkin'  he 
was  goin'  to  West  Village  is  more'n  Ic'n  under- 


45 


stand.  Them  springs  of  water  alias  make  it  poor 
freezin'  up  here.  That's  my  'xperiunce.  There's 
another  head  of  hair,  sure's  I'm  Smith  Green  ! 
God  help  us,  men,  we've  found  both  on  'em ! 
Gloomy  old  corner  of  the  pond  this,  anyway." 

While  my  axe  was  falling  blow  upon  blow  the 
tin  horns  of  various  parties  of  search  were  calling 
the  signal  well  known  among  us  in  case  of  a  lost 
cow  or  a  lost  child,  telling  that  the  search  was 
ovei*.  My  honest  neighbors  were  more  or  less  en- 
joying the  luxury  of  horrible  news,  each  new- 
comer being  informed  with  a  shout : 

"  We've  got  'em  !     Both  drowned." 

"Hod  Parkridge  is  dead  !" 

"  TJie  singin'-teacher's  drowned  !" 

It  was  hollooed  by  boys.  It  was  bawled  by 
men.  It  was  screamed  by  some  of  the  factory- 
women  who  had  come  out  over  the  ice. 

tl  Stand  back  there !"  I  cried,  as  my  blows  began 
to  show  the  leakage  of  water,  and  that  I  was 
nearly  through.  A  man  reached  me  a  boat-hook 
as  I  had  fairly  broken  through  the  ice,  when  just 
at  that  moment,  strong  as  a  bugle  note  on  the 
frosty  air,  a  voice  sounded  from  the  pines  above 
us : 

"Ship  ahoy  !  What  are  you  fishing  for?  Our 
two  buffalo  overcoats  ?" 

We  all  looked  up  aghast  towards  that  south 
wall  of  green,  where  the  palisade  of  pine  and 
hemlock  was  so  dense  that  no  pedestrian  could  be 
discovered  waiting  underneath.  At  that  mo- 


46 


ment  another  voice  pealed  forth,  more  musical, 
but  not  more  penetrating,  singing : 

"  Twas  off  the  blue  Canary  Isles, 

A  glorious  summer's  day; 
I  sat  upon  the  quarter-deck, 
And  whiffed  my  cares  away," 

"Gee  wbittaker !"  cried  a  school-boy,  "that's 
the  singin'-teacher." 

"  I  vum,  the  first  voice  was  dear  old  Hod,  or 
his  ghost!"  cried  a  neighbor. 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !"  rang  upon  the  air,  as  we 
realized  that  in  all  probability  they  were  no 
ghosts,  but  the  men  alive. 

"Hush!  hear  the  fellow  sing  the  rest  of  that 
song,  won't  you?"  said  some  one,  for  we  had 
drowned  out  his  notes  with  our  joyous  exclama- 
tions. But  now  the  crowd  hushed  itself  in  quick 
revulsion  of  feeling  to  hear  the  remainder  of  his 
refrain. 

"It  was  my  last  cigar — it  was  my  last  cigar; 
I  breathed  a  sigh  to  think,  in  sooth, 
It  was  my  last  cigar." 

Such  was  the  charm  of  his  rich  voice — such  the 
witchery  of  the  devil-may-care  spirit  in  the  man — 
that  still  the  men  waited  while  the  singer,  or  his 
ghost,  began  again: 

"I  leaned  against  the  quai-ter-rail, 
And  looked  down  in  the  sea, 
E'en  there  the  purple  wreath  of  smoke 
Was  curling  gracefully; 


47 

"But  what  bad  I  at  such  a  time 

To  do  with  wasting  care  ? 
Alas  !  the  trembling  tear  replied, 
It  was  my  last  cigar." 

As  soon  as  the  echo  had  died  away,  and  the 
smiles  had  begun  to  appeal-  upon  the  countenances 
of  the  men  about  me,  I  cried :  "  Holloo  !"  And 
the  voice  came  back : 

"  Holloo  !  'Lish,  old  boy,  we  are  all  right,"  and 
the  next  moment  the  two  men  emerged  from  the 
edge  of  the  forest. 

It  is  always  impossible  not  to  rejoice  with  life 
rescued.  I  sprang  forward  to  grasp  my  friend's 
open  hand.  The  crowd  stood  around  worshipfully 
ogling  the  two  men,  who  had  evidently  come  back 
from  heroic  struggle,  if  not  from  the  other  world. 
In  his  frank  and  open  way  Horace  began  to  ex- 
plain, using  the  most  matter-of-fact  language,  cer- 
tainly no  boasting. 

"You  see,  I  got  here  just  in  time,  'Lish.  The 
fellow  had  broken  through  the  ice.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  for  me  to  go  in  after  him.  We 
both  had  to  strip  to  some  extent,  which  accounts 
for  our  two  overcoats,  which  you  thought  stood 
for  ourselves,  and  which  I  hope  you  will  now  go 
ahead  and  fish  out,  for  mine  cost  me  forty  dollars." 

"Yes,"  said  Felton,  in  a  superior,  airy  way, 
"the  best  of  all  was  that  my  friend  and  rescuer 
here  knew  the  farmer  on  the  bank,  who  took  us 
in,  gave  us  some  good  dry  clothing,  fed  us,  and 
here  we  are,  all  right.  How  are  the  ladies?" 


48 


For  the  first  time  a  cloud  fell  over  the  frank 
and  laughing  face  of  my  friend.  Up  to  that  mo- 
ment he  had  been  glowing  with  the  consciousness 
of  a  good  deed  well  done,  and  getting  his  physical 
equipoise  from  a  night  of  great  exertion.  Prob- 
ably not  the  slightest  mention  of  what  must  have 
been  uppermost  in  each  man's  consciousness  the 
moment  he  had  come  back  to  the  world  he  lived 
in  had  been  made  till  Felton  asked,  "  How  are 
the  ladies?"  Turning  to  me,  Horace  said,  in  a 
low  tone,  which  had  a  sound  of  severity  in  it, 

"Get  rid  of  the  crowd,  Stone;  I  want  you  alone 
to  hear  what  I  have  to  say  to  Felton,  and  I  am 
going  to  say  it  too." 

The  quick  ear  of  the  other  man  caught  the  re- 
mark, and  he  was  ready.  He  volunteered,  indeed, 
to  relieve  us  of  the  crowd. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand, 
"I  am  very  much  obliged  for  the  interest  you 
have  taken  in  me.  Next  spring  I  intend  to  wind 
up  one  of  my  singing-schools,  probably  here  in 
West  Village,  with  a  free  concert.  Remember, 
you  are  all  invited.  You  will  get  your  tickets  in 
season.  Now,  good-bye;  I  must  look  after  my 
horse  and  sleigh — what  is  left  of  them — and  the 
ladies,"  with  a  quick,  bold  glance  towards  Park- 
ridge,  which  was  evidently  intended  to  be  either 
defiant  or  exasperating,  as  Parkridge  pleased. 

We  three  started  off  without  more  ado  by  our- 
selves towards  the  north  shore.  The  crowd 
yelled,  "  Three  cheers  for  Horace  Parkridge  !" 


49 


and  attempted  a  fainter  one  or  two  for  the  music- 
teacher.  Whether  the  significance  of  the  con- 
trasted cheers  was  lost  upon  Arthur  Alfred  Fel- 
ton  I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  think  it  was  needed, 
this  evidence  of  his  strength  upon  the  hill-sides, 
to  nerve  the  spirit  of  my  friend  for  what  he  was 
about  to  undertake.  We  walked  on  some  time  in 
a  silence  that  was  almost  sullen.  I  did  not  even 
inquire  into  the  particulars  of  his  night's  adven- 
ture, or  congratulate  either  him  or  the  singer,  as 
I  strode  along  at  Parkridge's  side.  We  walked 
until  we  must  have  been  mere  specks  on  the  blue 
sunlit  surface  to  all  spectator's  eyes. 

"Now,  see  here,"  said  Horace,  suddenly,  "stop! 
We  are  alone:  God  only  above  us." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  pious  about  it,"  laughed  Fel- 
ton. 

I  can  hear  it  now,  the  light  and  bantering 
laugh  of  the  handsome  man.  "  We'll  forgive 
you,  however,  being  a  preacher's  boy,"  he  re- 
sumed. "I  say,  Stone,  you  haven't  a  flask,  I 
suppose,  about  you?  You  are  all  such  temper- 
ance folks  up  here  in  Vermont.  If  you  could 
only  give  me  some  idea  where  my  sleigh  is.  I 
say,"  with  a  too  familiar  slap  upon  Horace's 
shoulder;  "  I  say,  shipmate,  there  is  a  splice  for  the 
main  brace  in  my  bag  under  the  seat  of  my 
sleigh,  if  we  could  only  find  it  in  these  drifts 
along  the  shore." 

Parkridge  endured  the  banter  patiently  enough, 
but  silently  growing  more  maddened  every  mo- 


50 


ment  as  I  could  see,  I  knew  him  so  well.  Sud- 
denly he  blurted  out  again  : 

"  No;  this  is  the  time."  And  he  turned  square 
around  to  confront  the  other,  who  was  as  tall  and 
as  muscular  as  himself.  The  difference  was  only 
in  the  bronze  of  the  farmer  and  the  pallor  of  the 
student.  Two  finer -formed  men  I  never  saw 
square  off  against  each  other.  Looking  Felton 
straight  in  the  eye,  Horace  began  : 

"  My  boy,  I  know  the  world.  I  have  seen  as 
much  of  the  world  as  you,  though  now  I  am,  in- 
deed, a  plain  farmer,  for  my  mother's  sake." 

"  Oh,  come  on.;  what  have  you  to  say  ?"  replied 
Felton.  "  Remember  that  you  have  a  friend  here 
with  you,  and  that  I  am  alone." 

"  My  friend  is  as  indignant  as  I  am,  though 
made  up  on  a  different  pattern,  and  he  is  not 
likely  to  say  all  that  is  in  his  mind,  whereas  I  am 
just  fool  enough  to  blurt  out  everything  that  is 
in  my  heart." 

"  Well,  speak  it,"  said  Felton,  standing  back 
and  filling  his  chest,  his  fine-cut  lip  curling  defi- 
antly. "  Remember  that  you  are  two  to  one — " 

"  And  shall  take  no  advantage  of  that  fact,  ex- 
cept to  compel  you  to  hear  us,"  replied  Horace. 
"You  thanked  me  last  night  for  saving  your  life." 

"  Well,  what  more  do  you  want  ?" 

"  Take  that  back  !"  cried  Horace,  and  his  right 
arm  bent  itself  as  his  great  hand  forced  itself 
into  a  fist. 

"  No,  Horace,"  I  exclaimed,  instantly  springing 


51 


to  his  side,  "he  is  not  to  be  handled  here.  It  is 
only  that  he  is  to  be  compelled  to  listen." 

"You  are  right,  neighbor,"  said  Horace, 
promptly  recovering  his  self-possession,  "  I  will 
forgive  the  insult.  Mr.  Felton,  I  did  not  inform 

O  * 

you  last  night  that  it  was  probably  the  interest 
taken  by  two  young  ladies  in  your  safety  that  in- 
spired the  necessary  courage  for  my  search.  It 
is  right  that  you  should  know  this,  lest  I  take 
more  credit  to  myself  than  I  deserve,  and  it  is 
also  possibly  my  right  here,  arid  now,  to  add  that 
I  do  not  fancy  your  merely  amusing  yourself  at 
the  expense  of  us  simple  country-folk." 

"  Man,  what  are  you  driving  at  ?"  demanded 
Felton. 

"  You  know,  and  Stone  and  I  know,"  replied 
Horace,  "  rural  manners  are  free,  and  may  the 
best  man  win.  But,  Felton,  Stone  here  wants  a 
wife.  I  want  a  wife.  It  is  none  of  my  business — 
it  is  none  of  Stone's,  I  presume — whether  you 
want  a  wife  or  not;  but  assuming  that  you  do, 
you  doiibt  want  two/" 

Horace  stepped  nearer  as  he  defiantly  shot 
those  last  four  words  into  the  singer's  teeth,  and 
his  clinched  hands  were  ready  at  his  side  as  he 
spoke  them. 

For  a  moment  the  two  roses  on  the  singer's 
cheeks  faded  out.  But  the  black  eyes  shot  fire; 
the  next  instant,  and  the  wild-cat  nature  in  him 
triumphed.  Cunning  and  calm,  he  laughed  and 
coughed  out :  • 


52 


"I  guess  you  two  boys  mean  business.  Come 
on,  I  want  to  find  my  wreck,"  and  with  that  he 
showed  us  his  back.  His  movement  was  so  cool 
that  for  a  moment  nothing  was  said  as  Hod  and  I 
stood  staring  at  each  other.  It  was  only  for  a 
moment. 

"Then,  Felton,  we  part  so,  do  we?"  Horace 
flung  it  after  him,  neither  of  us  having  stirred 
from  our  tracks  to  follow,  and  Horace  only  turn- 
ing his  head  upon  his  squared  shoulders  as  he 
spoke. 

"Oh,  but,"  the  singer  tossed  back  over  his 
right  shoulder,  as  he  flirted  the  long  black  curls 
on  that  side  of  his  face  and  turned  it  towards  us, 
"  I  will  be  good.  I  want  no  trouble  with  you.  I 
will  meet  you  at  Stone's  great  apple -paring;  I 
shall  not  return  to  college  this  week." 

Horace's  eyes  sought  mine  with  a  keen  ques- 
tioning gaze. 

"  True,  I  invited  him,"  was  my  simple  reply. 

"Our  quarrel  is  on  now,  I  am  certain,"  said 
Horace. 

"  Ours  !"  I  asked. 

"Well,  he  dislikes  Elisha  Stone,  and  he  hates 
Horace  Parkridge." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that  is  the  way  it  lies?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  he  replied,  as  we  strode  on 
by  ourselves  towards  the  northwest.  We  watched 
the  solitary  form  of  the  singer,  a  mere  moving 
speck  now  to  the  northeast. 

"Horace,"  I  remarked,  "he  will  continue  his 


53 


play  with  the  girls.  He  pi-obably  does  it  in  every 
one  of  his  schools.  It  is  his  manners,  his  dress, 
his  voice,  the  fact  that  he  is  from  Dartmouth  and 
is  going  to  be  a  lawyer,  that  charms  them." 

"  While  we  are  milkers  of  cows  and  sheep-rais- 
ers," said  Horace,  somewhat  bitterly. 

"  Tut,  tut,  my  neighbor,"  I  said,  reprovingly^ 
reading  his  thought.  "  Mind  your  mother,  boy; 
that  is  your  duty.  Stick  to  the  old  farm,  and  take 
care  of  that  dear  old  pair.  Then,  too,  twenty 
years  from  now,  if  we  keep  to  sober  industry,  we 
will  be  better  off  than  this  singer.  He  is  too 
smart." 

"  Yes,  he  has  no  principle,"  said  Horace,  medi- 
tatively. "  He  is  going  to  flash  and  glitter  his  way 
through  this  big,  dark  world." 

"Right,  my  lad,"  I  answered.  "And  do  you 
know  what  else  takes  with  the  girls  ?  I  was  try- 
ing to  find  the  secret  of  his  charm  a  moment  ago." 

"No." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  can  give  it  a  plain 
name  in  a  single  word,"  I  responded,  trying  to 
pick  out  my  expressions  with  care ;  "  but  I  can 
tell  you  what  will  rob  him  of  it,  and  it  is  in  your 
line,  and  fair  play,  too." 

Horace  stopped  me  short  with  a  hand  upon  my 
shoulder.  He  seemed  to  fairly  snatch  at  my  yet 
unspoken  explanation.  I  saw  the  eager  look  of 
distress  grow  on  him  by  the  instant,  as  I  was  try- 
ing to  fashion  my  sentences  before  I  spoke.  I 
did  not  dare  to  be  careless,  for  I  knew  well  the 


54 


hot  blood  in  ray  friend's  generous  heart.  I  did  not 
wish  to  set  him  on  to  assault,  Heaven  knows.  As 
I  saw  his  bronzed  features  turn  deeper  hued  in 
his  passion  of  suffering,  I  began  to  realize  how 
much  he  loved  the  pretty  jade  up  on  the  hill-side 
yonder.  His  trouble  made  him  resemble  his 
blessed  mother  ;  just  as  I  had  seen  her  a  few 
hours  ago,  when  her  boy's  love  affair  was  fling- 
ing its  shadows  in  her  face.  Putting  my  arm  on 
his  shoulder,  I  said: 

"  Hod,  could  you  throw  him  at  wrestling  ?" 

"  What !"  he  exploded.  The  thought  had  nev- 
er occurred  to  him. 

"  Dare  you  stump  him,  up  at  my  apple-paring? 
You  know,  we  always  have  a  champion  wrestling 
match  on  such  occasions,  when  the  snow  is  right — 
so  that  no  one  will  be  hurt." 

"I  see,"  replied  Horace,  withdrawing  his  arm 
from  my  shoulder  and  plunging  his  hands  in  his 
pockets — "  I  see,"  and  he  began  to  walk  on  as  the 
thought  got  hold  of  him  and  moved  him. 

"Throw  him,  and  kill  him!" 

"Yes,  throw  him  if  I  can.  That,  you  mean, 
would  kill  him  with  the  girls,  who  are  fascinated 
by  his  fine  appearance  ?" 

"Well,  Hod,  you  know  our  country  girls  as 
well  as  I  do.  You  know  the  old  stories  of  the 
histories  and  poets,  the  tournaments  with  brave 
knights  and  fair  ladies.  It  is  the  same  thing." 

Horace  began  to  smile,  and  pushed  his  hands 
still  deeper  into  his  pockets. 


55 


"  And  you  think  that  this  romance  of  chivalry 
survives  still  to  some  extent  up  here  among  the 
Vermont  hills  ?" 

"  Think,  boy ;  I  know  it !  I  tell  you,  this  at 
least  is  true.  You  just  throw  that  fellow  with 
the  hip  -  lock,  in  sight  of  all  our  young  people 
from  four  districts,  in  the  snow  of  our  front  yai'd, 
and  you  have  killed  him.  After  that  he  is  noth- 
ing but  a  singing-schoolmarm,  with  pretty  man- 
ners." 

"'Lish  Stone,  I  will  try  it;  but  are  you  sure  I 
can  do  it?  Never  mind,  I  will  try  it.  If  I  fail, 
you,  who  are  by  far  the  stronger  man — -" 

"  No,  no,  I  am  a  plain  log-lifter.  I  could  kill 
him  mowing  or  chopping  logwood,  but  he  is 
trained  in  gymnastics,  and  nearly  as  athletic  as  I 
am,  anyway.  You  have  been  a  sailor,  and  have 
had  some  experience  ;  besides,  you  have  got  more 
wind." 

"  I  will  try,"  Horace  said,  meditatively. 

Nothing  more  of  interest  occurred  in  that  con- 
versation, for  we  soon  parted  at  the  forks  of  the 
road,  and  Horace  went  up  towards  his  father's. 
I  went  back  to  give  the  good  news  at  Mr.  Hoi- 
yoke's  that  the  lost  were  found. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  TH'  sheruff's  up  here  yisterday  nosin'  'roun'. 
I  s'pose  yer  house-keeper's  told  yer  ?"  It  was  my 
hired  man,  Peleg  Rumney,  who  said  it,  as  we 
were  pulling  out  the  coarse  remnants  from  the 
sheep  racks. 

It  was  Thursday  morning,  the  day  of  my  big 
apple-paring. 

"The  sheriff!"  I  exclaimed,  and  turned  around 
on  him  with  amazement.  Nothing  so  alarms  a 
countryman  as  a  visit  from  that  functionary  of 
law.  Jack  of  all  trades,  he  does  every  kind  of 
work,  from  serving  writs  to  detective  investiga- 
tions. 

"  Eup,"  responded  the  little  hunchbacked 
Peleg — which  vocal  sound  was  his  way  of  saying 
yes — bending  again  to  his  fork,  "  driv  up  with 
Deacon  Littlewood  the  day  you  was  drawin'  oats 
to  th'  village.  Deacon  Littlewood  was  roostin'  on 
th'  top  rail  o'  the  bars,  talkin'  with  me,  while  the 
sheruff  went  inter  th'  house." 

"  Deacon  Littlewood,  too,  that  sanctimonious — " 

"  Cuss,  eh  ?"  chuckled  Peleg,  lifting  his  fork- 
ful. Peleg  shared  the  common  prejudice  of  all 
sinners  and  some  saints  towards  the  smiling, 


57 


black-eyed,  shrewd  deacon.  I  caught  myself,  I 
think  I  may  safely  put  it  on  record  here  that  I 
caught  myself.  I  did  not  say  the  word  that 
Peleg  did,  for  though  I  was  not  a  member  of  the 
Church,  and  had  only  been  what  our  folks  call 
thoughtful  the  preceding  winter  in  the  school- 
house  meetings,  still  I  never  forgot  the  fact  that 
Hilary  was  a  member  of  the  Church. 

"Peleg,"  I  demanded,  as  soon  as  he  had  cast 
his  forkful  down,  "  what  did  the  sheriff  say  to 
you  ?" 

"  Wa'al,  Mr.  Stone,"  he  said,  plunging  the 
tines  of  his  fork  into  the  earth,  and  leaning  his 
arms  on  the  end  of  the  handle,  "  uv  course  yer'll 
ask  th'  house-keeper  'bout  his  wantin'  ter  know  'f 
when  old  Bus'orth  died,  him  ez  owned  the  place 
before  yer  did,  thet  night  ther'  was  a  chist  up'n 
the  attic,  which  she  got  out  fur  th'  dyin'  man,  an' 
ef  she'd  know  th'  chist  ef  she  see  it  agin',  so  thet 
she'd  swar  to't." 

I  hope  I  didn't  turn  pale.  I  had  no  good  rea- 
son to,  except  it  might  be  the  second  reason  that 
Peleg  himself  surmised.  God  witness  that  this 
farm  wras  mine. 

"  Don't  git  scairt,  Mr.  Stone,"  Peleg  went  on. 
"  P'raps  it's  coz  yer  mad  thet  ye  turn  so  white. 
I  don't  blame  yer,  speshully  ef  yer'd  heard  whut 
thet  'ere  pious  deac'n  was  cacklin'  on  th'  top  rail 
o'  th'  bars,  yer  know,  while  he's  waitin'  fur  th' 
sheruff  ter  cum  aout." 

"  I'm  not  scared,  Peleg,"  I  answered,  assuming 


58 


an  ease  that  I  did  not  feel.  "  Well,  what  did  the 
saintly  man  have  to  say,  anyway  ?" 

"  He  sed,"  went  on  Peleg,  leaning  still  more  de- 
liberately across  the  top  of  the  fork  handle,  and 
assuming  an  important  air — "  he  sed,  gazin'  'roun', 
'  This  is  a  fine  old  mansion,  Peleg,'  sez  he.  An' 
sez  I,  '  It's  finer'n  'twas  when  Sen'tor  Bus'orth  was 
alive ;  better  kep'  up  'n  th'  fields  'n'  'roun'.'  '  Yis,' 
sez  he, 'great,  noble  house ;  no  wonder  it's  haunted, 
considerin'  how  wicked  th'  ol'  man  lived.'  An' 
sez  I,  '  How  was  Sen'tor  Bus'orth  wicked  ?'  Sez 
he,  '  He  was  a  man  of  this  'ere  present  world,  lov- 
in'  gain  more'n  godliness,  servin'  Satan,'  sez  he." 
Then  Peleg  paused. 

"  What  about  my  house  being  haunted  ?" 

"  Mr.  Stone,"  replied  Peleg,  pulling  the  fork 
out  of  the  earth  and  putting  it  in  a  new  place, 
"  did  old  Bus'orth  have  a  wife  ?" 

"Yes;  and  she  was  driven  out  and  died  in  the 
almshouse,  so  they  say.  I  know  nothing  about 
it." 

"  'Zac'ly,  I  vum !     An'  a  darter  ?" 

"  No;  there  was  no  child,  so  far  as  I  know.  My 
deed  was  signed  by  the  Senator's  brother,  who  is 
a  doctor  living  in  Nashua,  New  Hampshire."  I 
explained  this  to  Peleg  more  because  I  was  think- 
ing out  loud  than  because  I  cared  to  say  anything 
of  my  affairs  to  my  hired  man. 

"  I  vum  ter  Moses  !  I  know'd  yer  was  sound. 
But  the  singin'-teacher's  a  lawyer,  ain't  he  ?" 

I  took  the  old  man's   breath   away  as  I  ex- 


59 


claimed,  "What  has  the  singing-teacher  to  do 
with  all  this  ?" 

"  'Zac'ly,  I  vum !"  said  Peleg,  waving  his  hand 
over  the  top  of  the  fork. 

I  then  remembered  myself,  and  concluded  that 
it  was  not  worth  while  to  think  out  loud  in  the 
presence  of  this  old  servant.  So  I  turned  to  him, 
and  laid  it  down  coolly.  "  Boy  " — though  his  hair 
was  white  I  always  called  him  boy — "  this  ghost 
story  :  don't  you  ever  let  me  hear  a  word  of  that 
sort  of  talk  from  you  again,  or  you  can't  stay  on 
this  place." 

"  I  know'd  it  ! — I  know'd  it ! — 'tain't  so  ;  an' 
yit,  Mr.  Stone,  you'd  better  keep  me  here  'n  ter  let 
me  go.  Don't  yer  remember  thet  night  when  we 
fastened  up  thet  door,  arter  all  the  furnitoor  was 
moved  in  the  other  parts  of  th'  house,  'n'  ye'd 
gone  down  to  sit  a  while  in  yer  room  thet  night  ? 
Ye  was  sure  a  little  later  th'  hosses  was  loose  'n 
th'  stable,  and  comin'  up  'n  my  room  'n  th'  ell  ter 
wake  me;  an'  how  'n  th'  hall,  even  on  your  fine 
carpet  thet  ye  bought  'n  Boston  we  heerd  a  foot- 
step b'hin'  us — " 

"Peleg  !"  I  cried,  grasping  him,  "you  old  Cal- 
ifornian  miner,  are  you  also  a  coward  ?  Shut 
your  mouth  !  You  never  heard  it  again,  did 
you  ?  And  you  have  slept  there  four  years." 
All  the  decency  there  was  in  me  rose  up  to 
scorn  such  stuff  and  my  momentary  long-past 
weakness. 

"No,  no;  don't  shake  an  ol'  feller's  shoulders 


60 


so."  He  winced,  pulling  away  from  my  hand  that 
had  fallen  on  him. 

"Well,  you  didn't — now  give  me  the  truth — 
you  didn't  by  any  confessions  of  your  own  make 
my  dwelling  a  horror  to  the  town  by  telling  any- 
thing of  this  old  foolery  to  old  Littlewood,  did 
you  ?" 

"  No,  no,  I  didn't.  I  love  ye,  Mr.  Stone,  an' 
wanter  live  'n'  die  on  yer  place.  Ye've  ben  kind 
to  me.  I  hope  ter  goodness  thet  ye'll  succeed  in 
persuadin'  th'  hansum  Mary  Holyoke  ter  cum 
over  here  an'  be  mistress;  an'  ef  thet  purty  gal 
gits  in  here  oncet,  all  yer  trubbles  '11  be  over." 

I  would  ordinarily  have  resented  his  too  famil- 
iar reference  but  that  I  was  bent  on  controlling 
the  little  jackanapes.  I  believed  I  could  trust  the 
old  man,  for  surely  I  had  been  a  friend  to  him, 
and  meant  to  keep  him  there  until  I  buried  him. 
So  I  said  no  more,  but  strode  around  to  the  front 
of  my  dwelling,  taking  the  longer  walk  to  cool  off, 
thinking  I  would  seek  out  my  house-keeper.  As 
I  stepped  up  on  to  the  front  piazza,  how  peaceful 
the  mountains  towards  the  west  shone  in  the 
splendid  stretch  of  winter  sunlight  that  day  ! 
Thirty  miles  away,  how  grand  the  view,  how 
noble  the  house !  I  loved  the  old  place  better 
than  I  had  ever  loved  it.  Opening  the  door,  I 
entered  the  broad  hall  that  ran  from  the  front  to 
the  back  of  the  dwelling.  My  house-keeper,  Mrs. 
Polly  Cark,  met  me.  She  pointed  to  the  other 
end  of  the  hall  where,  against  the  round  window 


61 


that  revealed  the  mountains  on  the  north,  stood 
dear  little  Mrs.  Parkridge,  who  had  come  over 
early  to  see  if  she  could  be  of  any  motherly  as- 
sistance in  preparing  for  my  great  occasion  in  a 
bachelor's  house. 

"  It's  time  for  you  to  get  your  Sunday  clothes 
on,  Mr.  Stone,"  said  my  house-keeper. 

"  Mrs.  Cark,"  I  exclaimed,  abruptly,  "  there  is 
a  plot  against  me.  Come  into  my  library." 

Promptly  she  answered,  putting  up  her  two 
hands,  "I  told  Mr.  Sheriff  I  knew  nothing  about 
any  daughter  of  old  Senator  Bosworth." 

"Woman,"  I  continued,  intensely,  though  low- 
ering my  voice  so  that  Mrs.  Parkridge  could  not 
overhear,  "  that  singing-master  has  got  hold  of 
the  old  dark  tale." 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?"  she  asked.  By  this 
time  we  wei*e  in  the  library. 

"  This,"  I  replied,  as  I  shut  the  door  :  "he  will 
put  the  deacon  up  to  getting  hold  of  this  place — 
you  know,  and  God  knows,  how  unjustly." 

There  never  was  a  brighter  woman  than  Mrs. 
Polly  Cark.  She  deceived  me  perfectly.  With- 
out asking  my  explanation  of  what  could  be  the 
motive  of  the  deacon  and  the  method,  her  next 
apparently  frank  question  to  me  was  : 

"Is  Cynthia  in  love  with  the  singer?" 

"Yes." 

"  Is  the  singer  in  love  with  Cynthia  ?" 

"  No." 

I  think  now  that  I  can  recall  the  mere  flit  of  a 


62 


shadow  over  her  face.  But  she  caught  herself, 
and  resumed  : 

"But  he  makes  the  deacon  believe  he  is?  I 
see.  He  has  taken  the  deacon's  measure  :  prop- 
erty, more  property,  farm  after  farm.  But  Mr. 
Holyoke  will  stand  behind  you,  dear  Mr.  Stone, 
if  you  need  any  money  for  fighting  in  the  courts. 
You  helped  him  when  his  boy  took  away  so  much 
of  his  money."  How  sincere  a  friend  she  seemed  ! 

"Oh,  woman,  woman  !"  I  groaned,  as  I  turned 
away  and  stood  with  my  back  towards  her,  look- 
ing out  of  the  window  on  the  mountains.  The 
facts  were  the  very  reverse  of  any  such  possibil- 
ity on  Mr.  Holyoke's  part.  I  was  still  on  Farmer 
Holyoke's  notes  for  a  considerable  amount  of 
money  with  which  he  had  bridged  over  his  boy's 
mad  failure  down  in  Boston,  and  even  the  funeral 
expenses  with  which  we  laid  the  boy  away  up  here 
in  the  snow  I  paid. 

Just  then  there  was  a  sharp  rap  at  the  door,  and 
it  opened  without  waiting  for  my  reply. 

"  Holloo,  'Lish  !"  and  Horace  stood  before  me. 

"  My  friend !" — I  stormed  it  at  him,  while  he 
stood  aghast  to  see  me,  usually  calm  and  cool- 
headed,  so  excited — "  my  friend,  that  singer  has 
been  busy  for  a  week  around  here.  He  has  been 
stopping  over  to  Littlewood's.  He  means  to  ruin 
me." 

"  You?"  cried  Horace. 

"  Yes,  my  boy.  Why  is  it  that  your  mother 
does  not  want  you  to  marry  Cynthia  Littlewood? 


63 


What  does  your  mother  know  of  her?  It  is 
something  in  the  past,  before  our  day  of  remem- 
brance." 

Quickly  Mrs.  Cark  turned  round  upon  us,  as  if 
to  remind  us  she  was  present,  and  yet  there  was 
a  gleam  in  her  face  Avhich  showed  she  was  not 
sorry  to  hear  him  if  he  answered  my  question. 
At  least  I  have  since  believed  so,  as  I  have  pieced 
things  togethei-.  But  what  she  said  was  : 

"  Really,  Mr.  Stone,  you  must  get  ready ;  you 
must,  you  must !  Your  early  visitors  are  already 
driving  up."  And  with  that  she  left  the  room 
closing  the  door  behind  her. 

"  Well,"  answered  Horace,  with  a  sigh  that  was 
half  a  groan,  as  soon  as  we  were  alone,  walking 
slowly  and  thoughtfully  up  to  the  window  beside 
me,  leaning  his  broad  shoulder  against  the  oppo- 
site casement,  "  I  confess  I  don't  know  what  to 
advise.  I  wish  this — I  would  to  Heaven  I  could 
tear  my  heart  out,  and  wash  it  clean  of  any  rem- 
nant of  affection  that  it  holds  f  or  Cynthia  Lit- 
tlewood,  but  I  cannot.  She  is  coming  over  with 
the  singer.  I  waited  on  mother,  of  course,  as 
father  had  gone  to  a  preacher's  meeting,  and  I 
knew  I  could  not  be  Cynthia's  escort.  Besides  all 
that,  the  fellow  has  been  visiting  the  deacon  all 
the  week.  He  will  come  over  with  a  fine  turn-out. 
You  see  if  he  don't.  He  seems  to  lack  no  amount 
of  money."  And  with  that,  as  I  made  no  reply, 
Horace  left  me  to  go  into  my  own  room  to  make 
myself  presentable  to  my  guests.  I  thought  he 


64 


evaded  my  question  as  to  his  mother  and  Cynthia. 
I  was  provoked,  but  would  not  press  him. 

An  hour  later  everybody  was  there,  or  in  sight 
on  the  hill-side  driveway.  I  had  to  slip  off  up 
stairs,  change  my  clothes,  and  put  away  my  agita- 
tion, and  appear  as  happy  as  an  apple  -  paring 
party  demanded. 

"  How  radiantly  the  winter  sunset  streams  into 
your  great  hall  always!"  exclaimed  Mary  Holyoke, 
as  she  entered,  with  my  opening  of  the  door  just 
as  I  got  down  to  the  landing.  "  See,  papa,"  she 
cried,  as  she  called  the  attention  of  her  father  to 
the  flood  of  rosy  sunset  light  that  always  over- 
whelmed the  house  as  the  sun  went  down  behind 
the  distant  Adirondacks. 

"  A  beautiful  home  this  would  make,  my  child," 
was  the  old  man's  kind  reply. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  echoed  her  ruddy,  bustling 
mother,  coming  up  behind  and  overhearing  the 
conversation,  putting  out  her  hands  to  greet  me 
with  unmistakable  cordiality. 

I  knew  it,  of  course — I  had  known  it  before — but 
I  knew  it  beyond  the  possibility  of  mistake  after 
that,  that  both  of  the  old  pair  were  on  my  side. 

"  Good-evening,  Cynthia,"  cried  Mary,  merrily, 
as  she  stepped  along  down  the  hall.  I  turned. 
I  had  not  noticed  before  that  Cynthia  and  Felton 
had  already  arrived,  and  were  standing  beneath 
the  old  portrait  of  Senator  Bosworth  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  hall.  The  light  fell  softly,  and 
fully  revealing  the  portrait.  I  had  found  the 


65 


picture  in  the  house  when  I  bought  it,  stained  and 
old  and  almost  invisible.  There  being  no  one  to 
claim  it,  I  had  it  restored  in  Boston,  and  hung  in 
its  old  place. 

"  Now,  father,"  exclaimed  Mary's  mother  to 
her  husband  in  a  low,  quick  sentence,  "  the  re- 
semblance !" 

My  ear  caught  the  word  and  the  idea.  Strange 
that  I  had  never  thought  of  it  before.  I  turned 
and  looked  on  the  face  of  the  girl  and  the  pict- 
ured face  of  the  old  man  on  the  wall.  It  did  seem 
to  me  that  I  saw  a  resemblance  between  the  iron 
countenance  and  the  dark  beauty.  I  remember 
that  I  thought  I  would  try  and  compare  them 
again  some  time  during  the  evening.  But  as 
Felton  led  Cynthia  away  towards  the  great  kitch- 
en even  before  I  had  a  chance  to  come  up  and 
greet  them,  I  could  not  get  the  pictured  old  face 
and  the  young  face  in  flesh  together  again  ;  and 
it  is  singular  that  this  was  the  last  time  for  many 
a  day  that  Cynthia  Little  wood  was  ever  under  that 
roof. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  my  great  kitchen 
was  full.  In  pairs  the  boys  and  girls  and  men 
and  women  were  at  my  baskets  of  apples. 

"  I  will  run  the  parer,"  exclaimed  Felton  to 
Cynthia,  reaching  for  the  machine,  as  they  seated 
themselves  at  a  table;  "you  quarter  and  core." 
He  had  skilfully  arranged  their  positions  where 
Mary  Holyoke  could  be  tantalized,  if  so  disposed, 
by  every  attention  that  he  bestowed — and  he  did  it 


66 


lavishly — upon  Cynthia.  Mary  had  been  inspect- 
ing a  half-bushel  of  popped  corn  which  I  had  or- 
dered Peleg  to  deposit  at  her  feet.  He  brought  it 
in  just  as  Felton  arranged  his  position  with  Cyn- 
thia. I  saw  the  change  from  white  to  scarlet 
flash  a  moment  in  Mary's  face.  I  came  to  the 
rescue  and  attracted  her  attention.  I  said,  "  Here, 
Horace,  you  and  Mary  go  at  these  apples,"  and  I 
pulled  a  basket  to  her  feet.  "  I  have  to  be  every- 
where, as  I  am  master  of  ceremonies." 

"  And  I  will  string  them  with  you,  Mrs.  Holy- 
oke,"  said  pretty  Lucy  Tennant,  with  her  white 
arms  bared  and  astringing-needle  in  her  hands,  as 
they  joined  the  group.  "  We  old  folks,  Mrs. 
Holyoke,  aren't  anxious  to  blacken  our  hands 
with  either  the  paring  or  the  quartering  knives." 
And  as  Horace  pulled  his  chair  round  that  made 
up  the  circle. 

A  little  while  later,  as  I  was  kneeling  down  be- 
fore the  great  fireplace  to  knock  the  coals  out  for 
popping  the  corn,  I  contrasted  the  hilarious  jollity 
of  a  country  good  time  with  the  darkness  in  my 
own  heart ;  all  the  more  as  the  laugh  of  some  gay 
heart  rose  up,  and  cries  for  "  more  apples !" 
"  philopena  !"  and  what  not,  filled  the  room  with 
merry  music. 

"  Name  it !"  I  heard  Felton  cry  to  Hannah  Cas- 
tlereigh — "  name  my  apple-seeds." 

"Of  course  I'll  name  it  Mary  Holyoke,"  an- 
swered the  plague.  I  was  myself  startled  at  the 
girl's  penetration.  Felton  flushed,  Cynthia  paled. 


G7 


Felton  protested  a  moment,  and  then  as  the  seeds 
were  laid  out  carefully  on  Cynthia's  rosy  palm  he 
bent  over  and  began  to  sing  in  a  low  tone  as  he 
counted : 

"  One  I  love,  two  you  love,  three  I  love  I  say, 
Four  I  love  with  all  my  heart,  and  five  I  cast  away, 
Six  she  loves,  seven  he  loves,  eight  they  both  love, 
Nine  he  comes,  ten  he  tarries, 
Eleven  he  courts,  and  twelve  he  marries." 

"Twelve  it  is  !  Yes,  yes  !"  cried  Hannah  Cas- 
tlereigh,  as  she  seized  the  shapely  hand  to  make 
sure  of  no  trick.  "  There  are  twelve  seeds,  Cyn- 
thia, twelve.  Mr.  Felton  marries  the  name." 

"Miss  Holyoke  will  exonerate  me,  I  am  sure, 
for  any  complicity  in  this  conspiracy  against  her 
future  liberty,"  said  Arthur  Felton,  in  an  airy  way. 
He  leaned  back  to  bring  Mary  into  the  scope  of 
their  circle.  "This  is  Miss  Castlereigh's  non- 
sense." 

It  was  explained  in  a  way,  however,  as  I  could 
detect,  to  pique  Mary.  His  tone  caressed  her 
while  his  words  seemed  to  put  her  aside.  As  for 
Cynthia,  she  showed  prompt  resentment  at  the 
fates,  and  helped  the  game  Felton  was  playing  on 
Mary's  jealousy  by  saying: 

"No ;  the  fates  will  have  it  so.  You  better  go 
and  pay  court  to  your  future  destiny." 

"Not  at  all,  ray  pretty  lady,"  cried  he,  gayly. 
"  Come,"  as  he  pushed  his  chair  back,  "  you  are 
tired,  let's  put  aside  this  business.  Let  me  loop 


68 


your  string  over  the  pole,  and  then  let's  dance.  It 
is  time,  and  the  violins  are  tuning  up." 

He  caught  Cynthia's  festoon  of  apple  quarters, 
holding  it  out  at  arm's  -  length,  several  yards  in 
all,  and  flung  it  over  the  pole  that  crossed  the 
ceiling  nearest  him,  and  then  sprung  out  into  the 
room,  crying  : 

"  First  set." 

But  no  one  responded.  I  went  on  popping  the 
corn.  I  did  not  look  to  Mary.  I  did  not  need 
to  study  Horace's  face.  I  felt  sure  he,  at  least, 
saw  through  it  all.  It  was  Felton's  plan  to  dis- 
tress Mary,  if  she  had  the  slightest  fondness  for 
himself,  by  the  most  exclusive  attention  to  Cyn- 
thia and  neglect  of  herself. 

"  We  haven't  earned  the  right  to  dance  to 
Farmer  Stone's  music  yet,"  protested  Ezekiel 
Blood,  pulling  Lucy  Tennant  into  the  chair  va- 
cated by  Felton,  and  taking  Cynthia's  place. 
This  seemed  to  be  the  general  sentiment,  with  a 
dozen  baskets  of  my  fruit  left.  And  so,  while 
the  forty  people,  old  and  young,  went  on  with 
their  tasks,  Cynthia  and  Felton  started  off  into 
the  hall  for  a  stroll  through  the  other  rooms  of 
the  house,  arm  in  arm ;  they  only  reappeared  now 
and  then  to  snatch  at  the  work,  for  the  next  hour 
bothering  others  more  than  they  helped.  They 
succeeded  in  starting  considerable  gossip  about 
themselves,  and  a  by-play  of  criticism,  which  I 
knew  Cynthia  gloried  in,  tossing  her  shining  head. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  I  said  at  length,  "  we  are  going 


69 


to  clear  the  room  now  for  the  dance.  _You  and 
Horace — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  replied,  nervously  glancing  up, 
the  roses  on  her  cheeks  glowing  as  she  spoke, 
showing  the  mental  excitement  under  which  she 
had  been  laboring  for  the  evening ;  "  but  I  am 
not  ready  yet." 

"I  see," I  said;  "it  is  a  race  between  you  two 
and  Marinda  Joslyn  and  Tom  Calkins  to  see  who 
shall  get  the  last  apple  out  of  the  last  two  bas- 
kets," and  I  left  them  at  their  contest. 

"  Neighbor  Stone,"  said  Deacon  Littlewood, 
approaching  me, "  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I  think  I'll 
go  hum.  Mrs.  Littlewood  and  I  will  now  retire. 
I  do  not  'bject  altogether  to  sich  vanities,  and  yit 
I  can't  stay  to  the  dance.  Such  worldliness 
breaks  up  the  sperit  of  solemn  things,  which  we 
hope  fur  in  the  school-house  meetin's  this  winter. 
Oh,  my  dear  young  man,  when  will  you  young 
folks  think  on  the  latter  end  ?" 

"  Pardon  us  if  we  don't  to-night,  deacon.  Af- 
ter all,  we  are  a  meeting-going  neighborhood,  I 
believe.  There's  no  one  here,  so  far  as  I  see," 
looking  round  and  turning  him  by  the  shoulder 
for  the  -same  purpose,  "  who  don't  go  to  one  of 
the  three  churches — except  it  may  be  our  friend 
the  singer."  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  him  to  study  the 
effect  of  the  last  words. 

"  True,  alas  !  for  him.  He's  been  stoppin'  tew 
our  h'us.  He's  powerful  smart  on  psalmody  and 
— and  makin*  a  dollar."  Then  the  man  laughed. 


70 


It  was  such  a  startling  laugh.  There  was  no  fun 
in  it.  It  was  like  a  clinching  argument  without 
words.  When  he  had  no  more  that  he  wished  to 
say,  or  when  he  thought  he  could  overwhelm  you 
with  empty  sound,  Deacon  Littlewood  always 
laughed. 

"  But,  my  dear  neighbor,  this  is  no  wicked  ball 
— a  mere  country-home  jollification.  You  surely 
do  not  object  to  that  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  with  a  wave  of  those  hands  that  al- 
ways reminded  me  of  bird-claws,  "  but  you'll  ex- 
cuse me,  I  have  to  be  so  keerful;"  and  out  he 
glided,  his  eyes,  so  black  that  they  seemed  all 
iris,  twinkling  as  if  he  had  seen  the  evil  one,  to 
say  nothing  of  me.  This  excellent  man  unified  his 
sinful  tendencies.  One  evil  was  sufficient  for  him 
to  support,  especially  such  as  his  inordinate  greed. 

"  There  are  always  two  opinions  about  dancing 
among  our'country  folks,"  playfully  remarked  the 
venerable  Abner  Holyoke.  "  It  does  me  good, 
I'm  sure,  once  in  a  while." 

It  did  me  good  always  to  see  this  gracious  old 
man  warm  up  to  the  occasion,  about  the  fourth 
set  of  Virginia-reel,  his  squeaky  boots  tiptoeing 
down  the  centre  of  the  kitchen  floor,  starting  up 
the  aged  splinters  from  the  yellow  paint,  his 
rather  solemn  face  beaming  beneficence  as  his 
kind  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  ceiling.  He 
held  his  partner's  hand  so  high  on  this  occasion 
that  little  Lucy  Tennant  seemed  mere  airy  noth- 
ing, all  in  white,  at  his  side. 


71 


"Are  we  really  to  have  a  wrestling  match, 
Elish-a  ?"  asked  Mary,  a  little  later  on,  when  I 
thought  they  had  danced  enough,  and  I  had  be- 
gun to  set  in  motion  the  out-door  rounding  up  of 
our  sports.  I  was  passing  her  wraps  to  her  for 
the  veranda  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"  Yes  ;  you  know  that  is  the  rural  notion,"  I 
replied. 

"  You  don't  think  it  is  too  commonplace,  then  ?" 
she  rejoined,  looking  up  into  my  face.  "  But,  of 
course,  you  have  to  follow  the  fashion  in  provid- 
ing for  your  guests,"  and  she  made  ready  to  ac- 
company me,  moving  on  with  the  throng. 

This  question  of  Mary's  put  a  new  face  on 
things.  I  realized  that  she  had  in  many  respects 
outgrown  some  of  our  district  habits,  our  country 
ways  and  manners.  I  had,  however,  resolved  my- 
self not  to  be  drawn  into  the  athletics,  which,  no 
doubt,  at  that  time  were  far  from  being  as  wel- 
come among  the  fashionable  woijjd  as  in  later 
years,  but  they  were  fashionable  enough  then 
among  our  country  people. 

"  Glorious  moon  !"  exclaimed  young  Tomlin- 
son,  a  student  for  the  ministry,  who  had  enjoyed 
the  rest  of  the  festivities  well  enough,  but  who 
had  stolen  away  to  hide  himself  among  my  books 
while  we  danced,  and  yet  he  had  no  scruples 
about  witnessing  "  snap  -  the  -  whip,"  "  fox  -  and  - 
geese,"  and  the  wrestling  in  the  snow  from  the 
piazza. 

There  they  -stand  on  the  trodden   snow — the 


72 


wrestlers.  Did  you  ever  witness  that  fun  ?  It 
stirs  a  man's  boyhood  soul  the  recollection  of  it. 
The  young  men  in  a  circle,  but  the  fair  spectators 
on  the  piazza  and  under  the  porch  having  full 
view  where  the  circle  is  broken  up  on  one  side. 
Coats  and  hats  are  off  as  the  proud  giants,  robed 
in  white  to  the  waist,  are  silvered  over  by  the 
cold  spectator  moon.  Their  blood  is  up  from  the 
other  games,  such  as  snap -the -whip,  goal,  etc., 
which  has  warmed  them  till  the  little  puffs  of  hot 
breath  halo  both  wrestlers  and  spectators  alike 
as  they  stand  expectant. 

"Who  is  it?"  asks  some  of  the  women,  as  I 
pass  out  another  chair. 

"  Hush  ]  they  are  getting  their  hold,"  answers 
the  eager Tennant  girl,  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  fun. 

"  It  is  Horace  Parkridge  and  James  Peabody," 
I  explain.  "  James  is  our  champion,  you  know, 
in  these  parts,"  and  I  then  stepped  down  into 
the  throng  near  the  contestants. 

The  men  screw  their  great  palms  on  each  other's 
shoulders,  with  their  thick  fingers  fastening  the 
grip  like  a  vise.  The  alternate  grasp  is  on  the 
elbow.  Scarlet  necks  throb  deeper  red  above 
their  white  neckbands,  collars  stripped  off  that 
the  heavy  breaths  may  heave  the  more  freely. 

"Aye !  That  is  a  blow  of  the  foot  to  knock  a 
hitching  post  down,"  some  one  exclaims,  as  Pea- 
body's  heavy  boot  strikes  at  Horace's  right. 

"  But  that  leg  was  rooted  like  an  oak,"  another 
answers,  "  and  didn Vbudge  an  inch." 


73 


Thud  !  thud  ! — I  hear  the  blows,  and  recognize 
them  as  Horace's  doughty  foot  in  return.  But 
nothing  comes  of  it.  I  am  apprehensive  for  the 
boy  ;  I  want  him  to  live  out  the  contest,  and  be 
ready  for  the  singer  next.  I  have  no  ambition 
to  grapple  with  him  myself ;  and  unless  Horace 
shall  succeed  in  this  bout,  then  he  will  lose  his 
own  golden  opportunity,  and  Peabody  will  wres- 
tle with  the  singer. 

"Hurrah  !"  some  one  cries. 

"No!  no  !  no  !"  are  the  answering  shouts.  These 
are  partisan  cries. 

I  am  walking  about.  I  say  under  breath  to  Hor- 
ace :  "Steady,  my  boy,  don't  fail,"  but  I  get  no 
answer.  I  cannot  endure  to  see  them  bend  each 
other  like  withes,  and  I  walk  back  all  sus- 
pense towards  the  old  folks  and  the  girls  un- 
der the  porch.  The  singer  is  seated  there  be- 
tween Mary  Holyoke  and  Cynthia  Littlewood. 
He  accosts  me  with  his  ringing  voice  as  I  ap- 
proach : 

"  The  sailor  is  the  smaller  man  of  the  two  by 
an  inch,  I  should  say,  and  has  a  hard  road  to 
travel.  How  will  he  do  it  ?" 

"  By  my  wits  !"  shouts  Horace  on  the  frosty 
air,  half  savagely,  for  he  has  overheard  it. 

"Then  he  will  travel  cheap  enough,"  rejoins 
the  singer,  in  a  low  tone  ;  and  I  notice  that  Cyn- 
thia laughs,  though  Mary  does  not. 

"  Heigh  !  Heigh  !"  I  turn.  They  are  in  the 
grapple.  We  all  hold  our  breath.  It  seems  an 


74 


age.  It  is  but  a  minute,  and  it  is  over.  Down, 
down — Horace  throws  the  champion  ! 

I  am  the  first  to  take  my  friend's  hand  as  he 
approaches.  There  is  a  silvery  hurrah  from  the 
piazza,  a  waving  of  handkerchiefs  in  the  flash  of 
moonbeams.  I  do  not  know  who  is  in  the  cheer 
from  that  group  yonder,  I  would  give  a  good  deal 
to  know ;  it  would  tell  the  trend  of  sympathies. 

"Who  will  take  him?  Who  will  take  him?" 
cries  Peabody,  as  Horace  is  offering  to  put  on  his 
coat.  "No,  no,  you  are  the  best  man.  Who  will 
take  him?"  And  the  vanquished  giant  grasps 
him  by  the  shoulder. 

"  I  will  take  him,"  answers  the  fine  firm  tone  of 
the  singer  voluntarily,  as  he  stalks  along  across 
the  snow,  casting  off  his  garments  as  he  strides 
towards  us.  I,  of  course,  carry  his  clothes  back, 
and  deposit  them  at  the  feet  of  the  women. 

"  Oh,  my  boy  is  too  weary,"  protests  Horace's 
mother. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  answer  the  women.  Still  they 
have  small  pity,  being  at  fever  heat  of  excitabil- 
ity. When  had  fair  lady  at  a  race-course  ever 
pity  for  the  colt  that  carried  her  wager,  or  in  the 
coliseum,  or  in  the  old  days  of  the  tourneys  of 
which  Scott  has  told  us  ?  There  are  no  wagers 
here,  to  be  sure,  but  the  hopes  that  are  hanging, 
the  pride  of  friendship,  are  equally  pitiless  in 
their  urgency. 

Meanwhile  the  men  are  linked  and  playing  their 
stern  foils  and  bluffs. 


75 


"  What  do  you  think,  boy?"  asked  Father  Hoi- 
yoke,  as  I  am  turning  in  and  out  nervously,  and 
finally  start  to  go  back  towards  them. 

"  It  is  Horace's  breath,"  I  answer.  "  It  is  only 
a  question  of  his  breath,  I  think."  I  attempt  to 
stand  where  I  am.  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  go 
down  towards  the  athletes.  My  interest  is  so  in- 
tense that  I  know  I  could  not  hold  my  tongue.  I 
fear  that  my  turn  will  come  next.  I  must  not 
forfeit  the  good-will  of  my  guests  by  showing 
my  secret  partisanship,  so  I  fold  my  arms  across 
my  breast,  and  lean  against  the  trunk  of  the 
little  cherry  on  the  right  of  the  step.  After  a 
while  I  cry:  "Don't  spend  time  in  skirmishing, 
Hod." 

I  cannot  help  shouting  it.  I  regret  it  the  mo- 
ment it  has  passed  my  lips,  for  Cynthia  Little- 
wood  reads  me  as  she  whispers:  "Shame,  Mr. 
Stone  !  Have  you  bet  on  our  neighbor  ?" 

"If  there  are  bets —  Mary  Holyoke  begins 
to  protest. 

"  No,  no,  girls ;  there  are  no  wagers."  I  toss 
this  over  my  shoulder,  not  withdrawing  my  eyes. 
"  Can't  an  old  school  friend  wish  to  see  his  next- 
door  neighbor  hold  up  the  honors  of  the  North 
District  against  a  stranger?" 

My  word  has  helped  Horace.  They  twist  at  the 
arms,  they  hasten  to  the  grapple;  they  strain  each 
other,  as  a  heavy  wind  sweeps  over  the  trees 
when  they  are  full-leaved.  I  walk  down  nearer 
to  them,  arms- still  folded,  striding  on  step  by 


76 


step,  my  eyes  seeing  nothing  but  the  contestants. 
I  read  Horace's  face,  especially  as  I  notice  that  it 
has  grown  pale.  It  is  that  question  of  the  breath 
of  which  we  spoke.  Oh,  if  he  were  not  a  smoker  ! 
That  comes  of  his  sea  life.  The  back  of  the  neck 
is  bursting  with  color,  the  cheeks  grow  whiter 
still.  His  pulls  are  terrific,  and  fairly  lift  the 
other  man,  but  his  foot  blows  are  feebler. 

"Horace,"  I  murmur,  in  a  low  tone,  as  I  fore- 
see  that  his  nerve  is  failing,  "you  cannot  do  the 
thing  you  are  thinking  about." 

But  I  am  too  late.  Horace  tries  it,  the  hip- 
lock  ;  as  he  half  turns  for  the  throw  the  singer 
strikes  at  his  left  foot,  which  is  to  be  the  fulcrum. 
Oh,  oh,  it  slips!  He  reels  —  is  down!  Hurrah, 
hurrah,  the  singer  is  victorious  ! 

"  Stone,  St — "  Horace  cries  it  at  me  with  what 
breath  he  can  gather,  as  soon  as  he- is  upon  his 
feet.  I  see  how  death-like  the  dear  face  looks.  I 
feel  such  a  surge  of  vengeful  strength  rush  along 
my  bony  arms  !  I  am  ready  for  the  victor,  but  I 
wonder  at  my  own  boldness. 

"  Not  yet,"  cries  the  crowd,  taking  the  part  of 
the  victor;  "give  him  breath."  But  I  regard  it 
not,  I  am  so  eager  ;  I  throw  my  garments  on  the 
back  of  my  friend.  This  shall  be  a  truthful  biog- 
raphy, cost  me  what  it  may  to  always  confess  my 
own  secret  heart. 

Horace  answers,  "  The  singer  has  as  much  rest 
as  I  had."  But  I  suddenly  bethink  me,  and  I  re- 
spond, "Still,  I  will  give  him  time  to  breathe." 


77 


It  is  difficult  for  me  to  resist  the  impulse  of  my 
heart,  but  I  insist  upon  it. 

"  Yes  ;  give  him  rest.  I  will  take  a  bout  with 
Peabody  to  equalize  myself.  Then  let  me  try  the 
chainpion,  Mr.  Arthur  Alfred  Felton."  Jim  comes 
to  me,  and  we  are  at  it.  I  need  not  recount  the 
narrative  of  this  unimportant  contest,  as  it  was 
only  to  put  me  on  an  equality  with  the  cham- 
pion. I  am  surprised  by  my  own  strength.  I  am 
ashamed  to  confess  it,  but  I  write  this  story  for 
the  truth  in  all  particulars :  I  assert,  and  I  may  as 
well  confess  it,  that  there  is  a  sense  of  anger  in 
my  heart.  All  the  time  that  I  am  struggling  with 
Peabod}r  I  imagine  that  I  am  grappling  with  the 
singer.  I  cannot  forget  all  the  plotting  on  which 
I  have  stumbled  where  he  has  sought  nothing 
short  of  my  ruin  in  the  last  busy  week  of  his  cun- 
ning life.  After  a  few  moments  I  break  Peabody 
over.  Then  I  cry,  "  Come  on  now !"  I  excitedly 
stretch  out  my  arms  towards  Arthur  Alfred  Fel- 
ton. "  Come  on,"  I  say.  I  am  panting  like  a 
war-horse. 

"  He  comes,  eagerly  " — Horace  says  it  to  me 
under  his  breath.  I  can  to  this  day  feel  the 
swelling  muscles  of  that  shoulder  and  that  sub- 
tle elbow  under  my  clutch.  We  look  each  other 
in  the  face  just  once  before  we  bow  to  it,  and  in 
that  stare,  all  smiling  though  it  be,  I  see  his  mal- 
ice. We  are  to  strive,  and  we  seem  to  know  it, 
for  the  very  ground  beneath  our  feet.  Yes,  for 
home,  for  plaoe  among  men,  for  friendship  and 


7S 


for  the  loyalty  of  woman's  love.  Instantly  be 
steps  upon  my  toe  and  pulls  me  forward.  I  an- 
swer him.  I  come  on  him  like  a  log-heap. 

"  Heavens,  man  !     You  are  an  avalanche  !" 

"  And  you  are  a  panther  !" 

It  is  gymnast  and  ploughman.  He  knows  a 
.score  of  little  tricks  that  I  have  never  learned. 
As  I  twist  at  him  he  breaks  bis  hold.  It  is  un- 
fair, but  there  is  no  umpire  except  the  public 
opinion  of  the  homely  neighbors.  They,  how- 
ever, cry  out,  "  Oh  !  oh  !"  It  is  a  derisive  cry, 
and  against  the  singer. 

"Man,"  he  protests,  "your  fingers  are  as  coarse 
as  spikes." 

I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  for  I  feel  even  now  his 
flesh  where  my  corn-husking  fingers  have  worked 
through  his  garments  to  that  white  shoul- 
der, his  skin  like  satin  drawn  over  iron.  But 
I  must  not  let  him  play  another  foul  trick  upon 
me. 

It  is  lurch  and  labor,  it  is  tug  and  strain  and 
stand  fast.  It  is  many  a  thundering  thump  of 
my  cowhided  right  foot,  and  return  of  lightning 
stroke  from  his  patent-leather — his  left  foot  is  as 
well  trained  as  his  right.  As  we  work  our  eager 
way  in  the  excitement  of  the  contest  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  house,  I  hear  Cynthia  Littlewood 
exclaim : 

"  Of  course  he  will.  He  is  the  finer  make  of  the 
two."  I  know  it  is  a  compliment  to  the  singer, 
and  full  of  hope  for  his  victory. 


79 


"It  is  too  exciting,"  answers  Mary  Holyoke. 
"  I  wish'  it  were  over." 

"It  will  soon  be,  my  dear  ;  but  it  is  just  splen- 
did!" rejoins  the  dark  woman  in  reply. 

I  remember  that  I  see  the  Cark  woman  among 
the  other  maids  at  the  corner  of  the  house.  Her 
gray  eyes  are  like  fire.  I  think  at  first  that  it  is 
in  sympathy  with  me  that  her  eyes  are  so  kindled. 
As  the  years  pass  on  I  learn  to  know  better,  do  I 
not? 

For  the  second  time  this  man  attempts  to  maim 
me.  He  grinds  his  small,  tapering  heel  on  my 
toe. 

"  Foul,"  I  growl ;  and,  strung  up  to  my  utmost, 
I  turn  my  right  side.  I  call  all  within  me  to  the 
pillared  strength  of  my  left  limb  which  he  is  pin- 
ning down,  and  I  take  him  —  oh,  the  memory  of 
it! — I  take  him  over  my  right  hip.  It  is  an  awful 
twist  of  main  strength.  He  lifts!  He  is  clear  of 
the  ground!  I  have  him!  Over,  over — thank 
Heaven,  the  thud  with  which  he  falls  to  the  snow  ! 

"Curse  you,"  he  mutters,  white  with  rage,  "  I 
will  throw  you  in  another  way  yet !" 

I  am  upon  the  point  of  rising,  as  I  ought  to  do, 
when  he  spits  his  venom  at  me  ;  but  I  am  indig- 
nant and  I  do  not  let  him  go,  though  I  do  not  reply. 
I  silently  grind  him  into  the  snow,  my  right  and 
my  left  hand  upon  the  shoulder  make  the  com- 
plete touch-down — yes,  I  grind  him  into  the  snow  ! 

I  can  write  no  more  to-night — at  least  I  will 
not,  lest  I  put^on  the  paper  how  often  since  then 


80 


I  have  wondered  in  my  innermost  thoughts  if  it 
had  been  for  the  happiness  of  us  all  had  I  unwit- 
tingly killed  him  by  his  fall.  God  witness  that 
until  he  cursed  me  I  had  no  thought  of  harming 
him. 


CHAPTER  V 

"You  manifested  unmistakable  anger,  Elisha 
Stone,"  said  Mary.  It  was  two  weeks  later  that 
I  was  calling  at  the  house  of  my  neighbor.  Mean- 
while I  had  been  to  Nashua  to  have  my  interview 
with  old  Dr.  Bosworth,  the  brother  of  the  Sena- 
tor. My  lawyer,  Ashael  Keep,  had  been  with  me. 

"Mary  Holyoke,"  I  replied,  "  you  know  some- 
thing of  my  provocation.  I  knew  on  that  day 
that  this  mischief-maker  in  our  once  happy  circle 
here  was  intending  to  attempt  my  ejection  from 
my  dwelling  and  place  among  men." 

"Your  home,  Elisha  Stone?"  There  was  a 
coldness  in  her  tone  that  froze  me  to  the  bone. 

"  Yes,  before  God,  it  is  my  home  !  I  put  five 
thousand  dollars  of  my  own  into  that  old  place. 
I  do  not  come  here  to-day  to  build  up  the  broken 
dream  of  all  the  years  since  first  I  knew  you,  a 
pretty  child,  Miss  Holyoke.  I  have  not  been  ut- 
terly uninformed  of  all  the  events  which  have 
taken  place  since  my  apple  -paring  in  this  neigh- 
borhood. Probably  all  that  fond  old  dream,  as  I 
have  called  it,  is  over  forever.  But  I  do  come 
here  to  save  my  own  good  name  and  yours." 

"Mr.  Stone,  be  careful !"  said  Mary's  mother, 


82 


excitedly,  stamping  her  foot.  "  Mary's  good 
name,  say  you  ?" 

I  caught  her  rolling  ball  of  yarn  and  passed  it 
back  to  her;  and  then  standing  in  this  house,  un- 
invited to  be  seated,  where  two  weeks  ago  the 
easiest  chair  was  mine,  I  continued : 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Holyoke,  you  shall  all  hear  me. 
That  fellow  Felton  is  the  moving  spirit  of  this 
lawsuit  to  defend,  as  he  boasts,  an  orphan  girl's 
rights,  forsooth,"  and  I  did  not  quite  suppress  my 
sneer. 

"You  must  have  known  that  Cynthia  Little- 
wood  was  Senator  Bosworth's  child."  There  was 
something  killing  in  the  calmness  with  which 
Mary  Holyoke  charged  this  fatal  knowledge  upon 
me. 

"God  forgive  you,  how  could  I  know  it?  I 
declare  to  you  that  I  never  knew  it." 

"  Well,  it  is  said  that  you  have  just  been  to  see 
her  uncle,  who  fraudulently  inherited  her  prop- 
erty," added  Mary. 

"  I  have,  indeed,  been  down  to  see  old  Dr.  Bos- 
worth.  Into  his  hands  I  paid  the  purchase  money 
for  the  place.  My  savings-bank  book  will  show 
that  the  money  went  that  way,  every  dollar  to 
him." 

"But  would  it  show  what  he  paid  you  back?" 
Mrs.  Holyoke  said  this.  I  could  hardly  believe 
my  senses  that  in  so  short  a  time  this  home,  which 
had  always  been  friendly  with  me,  was  bristling 
with  so  much  opposition  and  cruel  doubt  of  me. 


83 


"Madam  can  you  believe  that  cursed  lie?"  I 
cried.  "I  know  this  Felton's  case.  He  proposes 
to  prove,  does  he,  that  I  was  in  collusion  with 
a  man  I  never  met  until  I  offered  to  buy  the 
place,  which  I  was  told  he  inherited,  and  which  I 
had  always  desired  to  possess.  He  proposes  to 
prove  that  this  stranger  gave  me  rebates,  as  they 
are  called,  of  nearly  half  the  purchase  money, 
upon  consideration  that  I  should  help  him  to  con- 
ceal the  fact  that  Cynthia  Littlewood  was  his 
brother's;  that  is,  the  old  Senator's  child?"  I  am 
a  slow  talker,  and  when  I  am  excited  I  cannot 
make  long  sentences.  My  indignation  and  my 
sorrow  choked  me,  and  I  stood  silent. 

"Well,  we  know  that  the  Littlewood's  never 
had  any  children  of  their  own,  and  adopted  this 
one,"  said  Mrs.  Holyoke. 

"That  may  be,"  I  resumed,  "but  I  never  knew 
it  until  now.  Whether  the  rest  of  the  young 
singing  lawyer's  plot  is  true,  I  am  equally  igno- 
rant. I  propose  to  try  proofs  with  him.  He 
makes  the  grasping  deacon  think  that  he  can 
prove  that  the  night  on  which  poor  Mrs.  Bos- 
worth  was  driven  from  her  home — she  being  a 
young  thing,  the  old  tyrant  great  man's  child- 
wife —  that  she  left  a  little  baby  behind  her, 
that  the  Senator  forcibly  detained  it." 

"Well,  it  is  true,  we  know" — Mr.  Holyoke,  for 
the  first  time  taking  a  part  in  the  conversation, 
sadly  put  in  this—"  Mrs.  Parkridge  and  the  elder 
also  kpow  that  Senator  Bosworth's  wife  died  in 


84 


the  almshouse,  from  the  exposure  of  that  night 
of  her  Hagar  -  like  flight.  It  was  in  the  winter 
of—" 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Holyoke  interrupted,  "the  next 
night  or  two  the  Senator  sent  her  baby  after  her. 
Mrs.  Cark  obliged  him  by  undertaking  the  shock- 
ing business  from  first  to  last.  It  was  the  same 
night  that  the  old  scamp  died  of  delirium  tre- 
mens,  it  is  reported,  which  is  bad  enough,  but 
Mrs.  Parkridge  and  the  elder  whispered  to  me 
that  it  was  more  likely  of  mind  horrors  that  the 
old  wretch  died." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,"  I  remarked.  "  Whether 
you  really  wish  it  or  not,  you  are  helping  me. 
These  facts  are  some  of  them  new  to  me,  and  I 
do  not  think  that  my  lawyer  knows  them  either." 

"And  the  Cark  woman  took  the  child  in  a 
wooden  chest,"  resumed  Mrs.  Holyoke;  "she  left 
it  at  the  almshouse,  not  knowing  that  its  poor 
dear  young  mother  was  lying  stark  dead  at  that 
very  moment.  The  Cark  woman  supposed  that 
the  mother  would  claim  it ;  but  as  it  was  un- 
claimed, the  matron  of  the  almshouse  called  it 
"  the  little  wood-chest  brat."  That  is  how  it  got 
to  be  called  Littlewood.  And  that  is  the  way  it 
attracted  the  deacon's  wife's  attention.  That  is 
the  way,  don't  you  see  ?  Otherwise  they  never 
would  have  adopted  it.  And  I  think  the  elder 
tried  his  successful  tongue  at  persuading  the 
selfish  pair.  He  was  always  trying  to  empty  the 
poorhouse.  But  I  don't  think  to  this  day  that 


85 


the  deacon  and  his  wife  ever  heard  the  explana- 
tion of  her  birth  from  Elder  Parkridge  and  his 
wife." 

Mr.  Holyoke  turned  away,  the  memory  of  those 
old  days  stirred  his  heart,  and  his  eyes  moistened 
with  feeling. 

"  Whether  the  deacon  and  his  wife  knew  it  at 
the  time,  they  know  it  now,  as  they  think,  from 
Mr.  Felton,  and  are  eager  for  my  acres." 

"  Your  acres?"  objected  Mary,  her  glorious 
eyes  looking  a  world  of  mournful  reproach 
upon  me. 

I  turned  to  her  ;  I  had  thought  that  my  heart 
had  surrendered  her  image,  but  to  be  misjudged 
like  this  was  terrible.  All  my  love  for  her  was 
suddenly  re-enforced  by  my  wounded  self-respect. 
Confronting  her  as  if  she  were  alone  in  the  room 
I  said  : 

"  Mary,  Mary,  I  can't  endure  this.  If  you  tell 
me  that  you  love  this  man,  and  I  have  little  doubt 
that  he  at  least  wants  to  marry  you,  I  shall  pray 
God  to  give  you  what  happiness  you  can  get  yoked 
in  with  him,  but  I  pray  the  great  God  above  us 
to  help  me  that  you  shall  not  count  me  a  dis- 
honorable man." 

"Elisha  Stone,  I  don't  think  I  have  given  you 
any  right  to  speak  to  me  of  my  possible  marriage 
with  him  or  any  other  person." 

"Hear  me.  Whatever  you  do,"  I  resumed — 
"whatever  you  do,  I  shall  live  from  this  hour 
not  feeding  on"any  straw  of  hope  of  your  love  in 


86 


return,  but  eating  the  fat  grain  of  my  self-respect, 
which  I  am  bound  you  shall  regard.  I  will  live 
to  show  you  that  I  am  an  honest  man.  I  could 
give  up  the  home.  It  is  naught  to  me  if  you  are 
never  to  be  its  mistress." 

"How  can  you  be  right,  Mary?  It  can't — it 
can't  be  !"  The  words  fell  from  Abner  Holyoke 
with  a  sob,  as  the  old  man  rose  up  and  started 
towards  the  door  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Father,"  protested  his  wife,  in  her  alarm  go- 
ing after  him  in  his  feebleness,  "let's  not  open 
our  lips  again.  Ain't  our  Mary  the  wisest  person 
in  this  house  ?  Ain't  we  given  her  an  eddica- 
tion  of  the  best?"  In  her  great  excitement  the 
little  polish  she  had  gained  rubbed  away,  and 
the  vernacular  of  her  girlhood  returned. 

So  the  old  pair  went  out,  and  we  were  alone. 
Mary  rose  to  confront  me.  It  seems  but  yester- 
day as  I  look  back  upon  it  all  now ;  the  sun 
shining  softly  in  at  the  farm-house  window — that 
new  bay-window  which  I  had  myself  planned, 
where  the  dear  child's  geraniums  and  roses  out- 
lived the  winter  ;  the  window  that  looked  across 
the  hills  to  my  own,  the  window  towards  which  I 
had  turned  so  often,  saying,  "  She  is  away  at 
school.  Next  week,  day  after  to-mornow  night, 
the  lamp  will  be  burning  longer."  I  say,  she 
stood  there  in  the  rosy  beams  of  the  sunshine,  so 
fair,  and  yet  so  resolute  against  me.  I  forgive 
her.  In  her  mind  I  know  that  I  was  at  that  mo- 
ment a  base  man.  I  was  a  schemer  who  had  won 


87 


my  acres  by  conniving  to  the  basest  fraud  of 
taking  them  from  an  orphan's  hand. 

"Elisha" — her  voice  trembled — "I  do  not  love 
Mr.  Felton.  His  gallantry  may  have  pleased  -me 
for  a  passing  moment.  I  was  foolish,  but  I  have 
put  that  all  away.  I  might  have  loved  him  but 
for  one  thing." 

"  What  say  you  ?"  I  asked,  eagerly. 

"  But  for  this  one  thing,  that  he  has  been  the 
instrument  in  the  hands  of  Providence  of  shat- 
tering my  ideal  of  a  true  man.  Could  a  woman 
ever  love  an  executioner,  however  just  his  office, 
and  especially  the  executioner  of  one  whom  she 
had  revered  ?" 

"  O  God,  give  me  patience  !  Dear  girl,  why, 
his  destruction  of  me  is  his  argument  to  gain 
your  favor." 

She  flashed  it  out  at  me  :  "  He  should  marry 
Cynthia  Littlewood." 

"Never!"  I  replied. 

"  He  has  as  good  as  asked  her  hand." 

"And  will  break  her  heart  as  soon  as  he  has 
got  me  out  of  the  way." 

"Poor  Elisha,"  she  replied,  "I  am  most  pained 
to  hear  you  so  persistent  in  your  deception  of  the 
neighborhood  and  me.  Oh,  Elisha,  why  do  you 
not  go  at  once  ?" 

"Go!" 

"Yes  ;  if  you  stay  you  may  be  arrested  any 
moment — imprisoned,  possibly." 

For  an  instant  I  could  not  realize  her  words. 


88 


I  bad  not  thought  the  fellow  could  do  all  that. 
I  stood  there  a  great,  awkward,  shaking  moun- 
tain above  this  little  woman's  pretty  head.  She 
put  her  two  hands  at  length  upon  mine,  which 
were  clinched.  She  stroked  my  bony  knuckles, 
and  still  I  did  not  answer.  My  head  was  dizzy. 
She  allowed  her  right  hand  to  creep  up  on  my 
shoulder,  as  a  dove  might  flutter  on  a  stone  wall. 
As  I  did  not  speak,  her  long  white  fingers  caressed 
my  shoulder.  "  Go !"  she  resumed.  Her  upturned 
eyes  showed  such  tenderness,  but  it  was  the  ten- 
derness of  pity  and  grief,  for  she  immediately 
continued  :  "  Go,  and  begin  life  elsewhere  anew." 

I  broke  from  her  without  reply.  My  misery 
and  the  madness  of  despair  that  has  made  many 
an  honest  man  dumb,  this  she  had  misinterpreted. 
When  my  rage  at  the  changeless  fate  of  things 
drove  me  forth  speechless  she  still  further  misin- 
terpreted me. 

At  the  horse-block  her  father  was  standing. 
"Elisha,  poor  boy,"  he  sighed,  "I  have  known 
you  as  an  honest  lad  when,  without  father  or 
mother,  you  came  to  the  farm  to  work.  I  have 
been  to  you  like  a  father  all  the  years  since.  I 
still  believe  in  you."  I  heard  the  old  man,  his 
eyes  swimming,  his  voice  trembling  ;  I  did  not 
reply.  What  was  the  use  ?  Besides,  I  am  not  a 
man  of  words.  I  have  no  fit  words  with  which  to 
write  this  tale,  much  less  have  I  words  to  speak 
when  the  heart  is  full  as  a  barn  bursting  with  hay. 
"  My  dear  boy,  can  I  not  help  you  ?"  he  asked  me. 


89 


"  You  helped  me  when  I  was  in  trouble.  I  have 
no  money,  I  can't  to-day  help  you  with  money, 
but  I  will  mortgage  my  farm  to  help  you.  I 
would  do  anything  to  help  you." 

"  Does  Mary  know  I  am  on  your  notes  ?"  I 
stammered  out. 

"No." 

"  Promise  me  not  to  tell  her." 

"  Why  ?" 

"You  said  you  would  do  anything  to  help  me. 
Now,  promise  me  you  will  not  tell  her  this." 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  he  said,  again  misinterpreting  my 
mind,  "but  I  believe  you  thought  you  had  prop- 
erty when  you  put  your  name  on  those  notes." 

"Swear  it  to  me  !" 

"I  swear  it  to  you." 

I  did  not  tell  him  that  I  had  bought  those  notes 
and  burned  them  to  save  the  house  over  his  head. 
I  did  it  the  day  before.  He  would  never  know  it 
until  the  first  note  fell  due.  It  took  the  last  thou- 
sand dollars  I  had  in  the  world — money  paid  for 
wool  and  crops.  I  did  not  tell  him,  I  say.  I 
sprang  into  the  saddle  and  rode  away. 


CHAPTER  VI 

FOUR  weeks  of  unbroken  sunshine  since  the 
great  storm  had  clothed  the  earth  with  a  snowy 
crust  stiff  enough  to  bear  up  a  horse  at  full  canter. 
It  was  the  most  remarkable  crust  on  record  in  the 
sixty  years  of  old  'Kiah  Lowrey's  weather  tables, 
kept  at  his  little  law  office  in  the  village. 

As  the  colt  felt  my  spur  she  bounded.  "  I  won- 
der how  long  I  am  to  be  free  like  this,"  I  said  to 
myself,  talking  to  the  westering  day;  "free  to  go 
where  I  will."  It  was  a  glorious  sense  of  liberty. 
My  spirits  rose  with  the  motion  through  the  brill- 
iant air.  Sti'aight  out  over  the  fields  I  took  my 
way.  I  avoided  the  highways.  I  did  not  care  to 
meet  my  farmer  neighbors,  drawing  oats  and  prov- 
ender to  and  from  the  village,  with  here  and  there 
a  load  of  cord -wood,  creeping  along  slowly  be- 
tween the  fencing  walls.  I  would  not  even  re- 
turn home  now. 

"  Let's  go  to  Round  Top,  Kitty !"  I  shouted  to 
my  animal ;  "  Heaven  knows  if  I  will  ever  go  there 
with  you  again."  This  was  a  favorite  point  of 
outlook  up  the  side  of  one  of  the  Green  Moun- 
tains. On  summer  Sabbaths  I  often  rode  up 
there.  On  winter  evenings,  after  reading  in  my 


91 


homespun  way  some  book  on  astronomy,  I  would 
snatch  up  my  little  telescope  and  trot  up  there  to 
view  the  stars.  And,  besides,  each  vacation  that 
pile  of  rocks  had  been  an  oft-sought  resting-point 
for  Mary  Holyoke  and  myself  while  our  horses 
stood  tethered  below  at  the  oak.  Years  ago  we 
had  cut  our  childish  names  in  the  bark.  The 
letters  were  entirely  overgrown  now,  but  I  knew 
what  the  scars  meant,  folded  in  out  of  sight  near 
to  the  oak's  great  faithful  heart. 

"  Holloo  !"  a  voice  rang  out,  clear  as  a  bell- 
call,  above  the  little  crashes  of  my  horse's  hoofs 
upon  the  crust.  I  did  not  note  it  at  first,  for 
riding  makes  the  ears  throb  in  the  wind.  I  looked 
around  and  could  see  nothing.  Presently  I  heard 
the  whack,  whack,  of  a  wood-chopper's  axe. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Kitty,"  I  said,  "  it's  Hod  Parkridge, 
in  his  own  woods  yonder.  He  thinks  I  don't  hear, 
and  has  fallen  to  work  again.  Holloo,  Hod  !  I'll 
come  in  !"  and  I  turned  into  the  edge  of  the  ma- 
ple and  beech  forest. 

"Come  to  my  fire,  neighbor,  and  let's  hear  the 
latest,"  was  Hod's  salutation,  dropping  his  axe 
with  a  sticking  blow  into  one  side  of  the  great 
chip  on  the  log.  He  threw  on  his  long  blue  wool- 
len frock,  and  walked  at  my  saddle-bow  three  or 
four  rods  further  till  we  came  to  his  sugar- hut. 
There  was  a  fire  smoking  down  to  duluess  on  the 
cobblestone  hearth,  where  a  few  months  later 
sap-pans  would  be  steaming.  He  replenished  the 
fire. 


"  I  will  hitch  Kitty  under  the  shanty  out  of  the 
wind  and  throw  on  this  blanket,"  I  was  saying, 
when  the  boy  sprang  up  suddenly,  crying  out, 

"  Good-afternoon,  Cynthia  !" 

I  turned.  There  sat  the  girl  in  the  saddle.  She 
had  approached  from  the  other  side  of  the  knoll 
about  the  same  time  that  I  did.  We  had  not 
seen  each  other.  I  stepped  back  into  the  con- 
cealment of  the  shed. 

"Why,  good -afternoon,  Horace  !  I  have  just 
come  from  your  mother."  Her  beauty  lost  noth- 
ing by  being  horsed.  This  peerless  creature  and 
her  animal  seemed  to  fill  the  great  aisled  solemn 
woods  with  a  sudden  flash  of  splendor.  Her  horse 
was  smoking,  and  nosed  her,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Oh,  let  me  stop  and  breathe  !"  She  stripped  off 
her  fur  mitten  and  patted  the  animal's  neck.  The 
sight  of  her  shapely  hand  knocked  Hod  over.  I 
saw  him  almost  snatch  at  the  hand ;  but  instead 
he  put  his  own  hand  into  the  deep  pocket  of  his 
overfrock,  as  if  to  keep  it  respectful.  Then,  too, 
immediately  the  witch  smiled  on  him.  She  was 
after  something,  I  felt  convinced,  she  was  beam- 
ing on  him  so.  My  thought  was,  as  I  watched 
them  both  over  the  back  of  my  colt,  myself  un- 
observed : 

"Why  don't  the  singer  take  her?  To  such  a 
man  this  sparkling,  brilliant  woman  must  be  far 
more  charming  than  my  great-hearted,  thought- 
ful, slow -moving  Mary.  Mary's  face  has  the 
beauty  of  a  July  noon  ;  this  face  has  the  beauty 


93 


of  a  sparkling,  dewy  May  morning."  I  leaned 
on  my  saddle,  and,  hidden  there,  studied  her.  I 
pitied  her.  She  was  too  beautiful  to  be  made  a 
cat's-paw  for  my  destruction,  and  then  herself 
to  be  rejected  by  that  scoundrel  Felton.  In  my 
compassion  for  her  imagined  fate  I  almost  for- 
gave her  any  injury  she  might  have  lent  herself 
to  regarding  me. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  me  to  your  fire,  Hod?" 
she  said,  freeing  the  stirrup-foot  at  the  same  time. 
Then  she  put  down  that  wonderful  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  Instantly  Horace  dropped  on  one  knee, 
and  gave  her  small  foot  a  chance  to  pounce  on 
the  horse-block  which  he  made  of  the  other  knee. 

"  He  is  her  perfect  slave,"  I  commune  with  my- 
self, "  and  the  man  who  comes  between  him  and 
his  heart's  mistress  will  suffer.  Where  will  all 
this  end?" 

The  pair  stepped  along  the  snow  to  the  fire.  I 
was  concealed  still,  and  the  love  -  mad  boy  had 
forgotten,  probably,  my  existence. 

"  Yes,"  she  remarked,  clutching  back  her  rid- 
ing-habit, and  pushing  her  stout  little  boot  against 
the  front  log  till  the  sparks  shot  up  about  her 
and  made  her  spring  back  to  save  her  skirts,  "  I 
have  been  over  to  Mother  Parkridge's.  I  love  to 
go  there.  She  is  the  best  soul  in  the  country-side. 
She  is  good  to  everybody." 

"  It  has  been  a  long  time  since  you  thus  favored 
us,"  Horace  replied.  He  stood  because  she  stood. 
If  she  had  sat  he  would  have  sat  down  at  her  side. 


94 


"I  confess  it, Horace, but — "  and  then  she  sank 
on  the  slab  bench  in  front  of  the  fire.  Down  he 
sat  also,  but  at  the  end  of  the  bench,  his  hand 
half  bearing  his  weight  and  his  form  bent  towards 
her  reverentially.  His  fine  massive  face  was  fair- 
ly reverential — I  am  sure  that  is  the  word  I  want. 
I  recalled  that  remark  of  his  made  in  my  library 
— made  the  evening  of  the  apple-paring,  "I  wish 
I  could  tear  my  heart  out  and  wash  it  clean  of  all 
love  for  Cynthia  Littlewood,  but  I  cannot."  And 
now  I  believed  him. 

"I  know  my  mother  made  you  welcome,"  the 
host  resumed.  "  Have  you  been  surprising  her 
and  father  by  staying  to  dinner?" 

"  Yes  ;"  and  she  seemed  to  me  to  be  hunting 
for  the  best  way  to  begin  her  selfish  errand. 

"I  wish  I  had  been  there,  Cynthia,"  blurted 
out  the  honest  boy.  How  completely  real  hon- 
est love  does  prostrate  a  man  !  Here  was  a  mag- 
nificent fellow,  well  off  in  the  world,  with  a  great 
noble  heart  to  give,  a  loyal  friend  of  mine,  and 
himself  persuaded  that  this  handsome  girl  was 
plotting  my  destruction,  conscious  that  he  him- 
self had  been  made  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
town  by  her  at  the  singing  -  school  and  at  my 
apple- paring,  by  her  giving  him  the  mitten  and 
choosing  the  singer,  yet  now,  with  one  swoop  of 
the  splendid  bird  down  on  him,  ready  to  sigh  like 
that — "  I  wish  I  had  been  there,  Cynthia  !" 

"Yes,"  she  answered, demurely.  Then  sudden- 
ly, in  a  most  business  -  like  way,  she  sparkled  it 


95 


out  to  him,  pursing  up  her  lips  :  "  Have  you  lost 
any  sheep  lately  by  the  wolves  ?  Father  wanted 
me  to  ride  over  and  ask  you  what  you  young 
men  who  owned  rifles  were  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Horace's  countenance  fell.  It  was  a  mere  mat- 
ter-of-fact errand  like  that,  was  it?  It  meant, 
would  the  young  men  of  the  neighborhood  or- 
ganize a  hunt  and  "clean  out  those  varmints," 
whether  wolf,  bear,  or  dog,  which  were  poaching 
on  our  upland  barns  ? 

"  Is  that  it?"  exclaimed  Horace. 

"Yes,  and—"  But  she  did  not  finish.  I  felt 
sure  that  the  important  part  of  her  errand  was 
hidden  behind  that  silence,  but  she  only  cut  the 
snow  with  her  riding-whip  in  circles  a  little  near- 
er and  nearer  to  his  person  every  stroke. 

"They  are  possibly  catamounts,"  remarked 
Horace,  in  an  absent-minded  manner,  with  a  tinge 
of  disappointment  in  his  tone.  "  Every  long 
winter,  when  snows  are  as  deep  as  this  year,  and 
the  cold  is  severe,  we  get  these  wolfish  dogs  or 
wild-cats,  which  creep  down  southward  into  the 
States.  They  come  from  Canada  and  the  Adiron- 
dacks.  It  is  too  bad.  Has  your  father  lost 
many  sheep  ?" 

"  Why,  night  before  last  our  open  barn,  under 
the  shelter  of  Round  Top,  where  father  has  so 
much  hay  and  keeps  one  flock — well,  four  lambs 
in  one  night  and  two  ewes." 

"This  is  indeed  serious.  We  will  try  the  rifles 
to-morrow.  I  will  get  Elisha  Stone — " 


96 


Her  dark  face  turned  pale  at  the  mention  of 
my  name.  Such  a  subtle  spirit  could  for  a  time 
mask  her  purpose  and  deceive  any  one,  much 
more  Horace ;  but  she  could  not  control  her 
mantling  blood,  and  her  tongue  proved  traitor, 
for  she  exclaimed,  "I hate  him!" 

"  Don't  say  that,  for  it  hurts  me." 

Thank  him  for  so  much.  I  wonder  that  he 
had  the  self-possession  in  his  passion  to  say  even 
that  for  his  friend,  and  his  tone  trembled  as  he 
said  it. 

"  I  wonder  that  you  care  now,  Hod  Parkridge, 
whether  I  hurt  you  or  not.  I  have  treated  you 
shamefully  lately."  By  this  meek  confession  she 
had  him  again  instantly,  and  she  followed  up  her 
advantage.  Leaning  over  towards  him  in  an  en- 
gaging way,  graceful  in  every  movement  and  fas- 
cinating, with  great  emphasis  she  finished  her  real 
errand, 

"Why  doesn't  Elisha  Stone  marry  Mary  Hoi- 
yoke  and  done  with  it  ?" 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  she  would  have  him ;  but 
you  know  why  he  does  not."  The  man's  voice 
had  got  its  sternness  all  in  an  instant.  The  neigh- 
borhood trouble  stood  before  him  like  a  full-armed 
hobgoblin. 

"  No;  I  don't  know  why,"  she  wheedled,  soft  as 
music.  "  I  am  Mary's  friend  ;  I  hope  she  is 
mine.  I  have  taken  this  journey  upon  myself  for 
the  sake  of  all  of  us.  I  have  been  over  to  see 
your  mother.  You  know  it  is  said  that  I  am 


97 


wronged  out  of  some  property  by  Elisha  Stone. 
Papa  wishes  me  to  push  my  claim,  but  I  don't 
want  law,  law,  law.  I  am  too  fond  of  enjoying 
life  and  having  a  jolly  time.  I  only  want  to  be 
happy,  and  I  want  others  to  be,  and  I  will  give  it 
all  up,  this  fight  about  property,  if  only  Elisha 
will  go  and  marry  Mary  ;  otherwise " — and  her 
eyes  flashed  ;  she  lifted  up  her  small  hand,  and  it 
was  iu  the  shape  of  a  fist — "otherwise  I  will  send 
him  to  prison  !" 

Alas,  for  the  poor  boy  !  Why  could  not 
Horace  have  seen  through  it  all?  But  no  ;  he 
was  as  ready  to  be  blind  as  she  was  to  blind 
him.  Springing  to  his  feet  before  her,  he 
said  : 

"And  if  I  will  help  this  wish  of  yours,  or  if  I 
make  sail  for  your  friend  Mary,  and  of  course  my 
friend  too,  for  everybody  likes  her  far  and  wide, 
by  trying  to  bring  Elisha  to  the  point  of  popping 
the  question — " 

"  Then — why,  then,  you  shall  have  my  everlast- 
ing blessing,  Hod  !  I  will  love  you  as  the  best, 
the  dearest  neighbor,  the  noblest  fellow  in  all  the 
country  round." 

She  put  both  her  hands  out  towards  him  and 
grasped  one  of  his.  Then  she  gave  him  the  full 
look  of  her  black  eyes.  But  it  was  either  too 
much  or  too  little,  such  an  assertion  of  thanks. 
The  dear  boy  returned  her  such  a  truthful  look, 
forgiving  all  and  yet  asserting  all,  that  she 
quailed.  He  Deemed  to  ask  what  this  meant  so 


honestly  that  she  looked  up  and  then  around,  and 
started  back  alarmed.  Releasing  her  hands,  she 
cried, 

"  Oh,  oh,  it  is  sunset !  We  are  talking  too  long. 
I  must  hasten  home.  Help  me  to  mount.  What 
if  I  should  meet  some  of  those  hungry  beasts?" 
and  away  she  flew  to  her  horse. 

She  had  been  careless  of  the  colt,  and  the  grace- 
ful beast  was  trembling  with  the  chill  of  depart- 
ing day  ;  but  Cynthia  was  soon  in  the  saddle,  with 
the  help  of  Horace's  hand. 

"  If  I  had  my  horse  here  you  should  not  vent- 
ure over  Round  Top  alone  ;  and  if  you  will  return 
with  me  to  my  barn,  I  will  saddle  at  once  and  ac- 
company you  home." 

"Oh,  it  is  unnecessary.  I  shall  get  over  into 
Brookfield  lane  before  the  after-glow  has  faded, 
no  doubt."  And  so,  very  abruptly,  she  cantered 
away. 

Horace  stood  gazing  after  her  for  some  min- 
utes. I  did  hot  interrupt  him.  Then  he  turned 
to  me,  and  said  : 

"Elisha,  come  out.  That  colt  of  hers  is  stiff. 
I  am  afraid  he  will  fall.  Now,  you  cannot  follow 
her;  she  says  she  hates  you, but  I  must.  Through 
the  woods  there  it  is  possible  there  is  danger.  I 
lost  a  calf  last  night.  It  is  a  pack  of  those  Can- 
ada dogs.  We  do  not  often  have  them.  Now, 
you  go  down  and  get  my  horse  and  canter  after 
me,  and  let  me  take  your  own." 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  stripping  Kitty  ;  "  but, boy, 


99 


do  you  know  who  she  is  probably  going  to  meet 
over  at  the  Brookfield  road  ?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  it  is  the  teacher  who  is  going  to  her 
house  to  supper,  and  then  to  his  Brookfield  sing- 
ing-school." 

He  settled  himself  down  in  the  saddle,  his  chin 
dropped,  and  he  was  buried  in  thought.  I  did 
not  deem  it  best  to  help  him  think  his  way 
through  all  that  I  had  said,  though  he  was  evi- 
dently reviewing  the  scene.  He  was  having  the 
struggle  over  again,  doubtless,  trying  to  "  tear  that 
heai't  out."  A  big  heart  was  that  to  be  torn  out. 
He  lost  precious  time,  however.  The  woods  were 
beginning  to  turn  ashen  gray,  and  blue  shadows 
were  deepening  on  the  hills.  A  winter's  night 
falls  quickly.  There  is  almost  no  twilight.  At 
length,  starting  up  from  his  reverie,  he  said  : 

"I  know  she  is  not  quite  safe.  If  I  meet  that 
other  wolf — well,  I  saved  his  life  once,  and  I  will 
not  let  him  prevent  my  saving  her  life  now,"  and 
he  galloped  away  to  the  west. 

By  the  time  I  had  saddled  Horace's  Princess  at 
his  distant  stable  it  was  full  fallen  night.  I  got 
away  quietly,  without  disturbing  the  elder's  fam- 
ily, to  go  after  the  boy  and  girl.  Only  starlight 
fell  feebly  over  the  darkened  hills.  Still  that  is 
a  considerable  light  in  our  northern  world,  and  I 
got  on  fast.  From  the  sugar-camp  I  struck  for 
the  dim  masses  of  Round  Top.  The  rising  waves 
of  the  rolling  land  climbed  upward  from  the  el- 


100 


der's  farm  quite  rapidly  to  a  moderate  height. 
After  some  time  I  stopped  and  hollooed.  The 
echo  was  the  sole  reply. 

Did  you  ever  start  an  echo  in  the  open  night 
and  open  fields  and  hear  the  skirting  forests  take 
it  up,  passing  it  on  and  over  and  under  till  it  dies 
away?  If  you  never  did  you  never  yet  felt  ab- 
solute solitude — yes,  felt  it,  I  say.  On  the  third 
or  fourth  cry  of  this  "  Hod  Parkridge,  Parkridge, 
'arkridge,  'ridge,"  fading  fainter,  fainter,  and  gone, 
I  thought  I  heard  a  cry.  It  did  not  seem  like  an 
honest  human  cry.  I  listened  until  Princess's 
blowing  seemed  lighter  than  a  deep  breath  of 
wind. 

"  I  say,  Hod  !"  I  shouted. 

"  Hod,  'od,  'od,  'od,"  ran  from  hill  to  hill  and 
rolled  faintly  along  the  dark  blue  valley. 

The  night  was  so  still  in  the  foothills  that  I 
could  hear  the  deep  roar  from  the  hemlock  for- 
ests, on  the  wind-swept  heights  over  on  the  Green 
Mountains,  beyond  the  river.  The  winds  always 
blow  up  there.  There  are  townships  over  there 
that  are  solid  hemlock.  To  hunt  or  fish  there  is 
perilous.  There  is  no  path.  There  are  precipices 
hidden  away. 

"  Go  on,  Princess."  But  instead  the  pretty 
beast  sprang  to  the  left,  turned  her  head  sharp 
around  to  the  right,  and  a  tremor  ran  through  her 
like  a  shock.  Her  ears,  at  least,  had  detected 
something  that  I  had  not  heard.  The  horse  has 
the  keenest  instinct  for  physical  danger  of  any 


101 


animal  except  the  deer.  Both  deer  and  horse  seek 
to  escape  danger.  Horses  have  poor  weapons  for 
a  fight. 

"  What  is  it,  Princess  ?" — patting  her  neck — I 
asked.  The  same  tremor  was  her  reply,  then  a 
restless  effort  to  bound  away. 

"  Hark  !" 

"Bark!  bark!  'ark!" 

That  was  no  echo.  It  was  a  wavering  sound  as 
from  a  moving  thing.  I  strained  my  ears.  I 
heard  it  again.  Now  it  was  unmistakable,  the 
snapping,  snarling  whine  of  a  hungry  savage 
beast. 

"  My  God  !"  I  yelled  it  as  if  the  boy  and  girl 
might  hear  it.  My  tone  trembled  with  my  fear. 
"  It  is  a  pack  of  them,  the  Canada  wolves  !"  But 
there  was  no  human  creature  in  sight  to  hear  my 
cry  of  alarm. 

Straight  on  like  an  arrow  we  flew.  It  was  that 
hard  winter,  and  it  was  those  deer  preserves  in 
the  Adirondacks  that  had  given  the  savage  scamps 
a  lingering  home  so  nigh  to  civilized  folks  !  Our 
last  town-meeting  increased  the  bounty  to  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  every  wolf's  pelt,  but  I  had  never 
known  them  quite  so  venturesome  as  this  before. 
Why,  this  was  not  eight  miles  from  my  own  dwell- 
ing. When  I  overheard  the  girl's  story  at  the 
sugar-camp  I  smiled  to  myself  at  her  words.  I 
only  thought  it  possible  we  were  being  attacked 
by  stray  dogs  or  an  occasional  wolf.  But  here 
was  real  danger,  for  neither  Horace  nor  I  was 


102 


armed.  Oh,  for  ray  rifle,  standing  behind  the 
door  in  my  library  ! 

My  library  !  I  had  forgotten  my  o\vn  troubles 
for  a  moment,  but  the  memory  of  the  cosey  libra- 
ry, with  all  my  bachelor  traps,  rifles,  fishing-rods, 
sticks,  desk,  books,  and  Mary  Holyoke's  portrait 
on  the  mantel — my  library,  indeed!  Should  I  ever 
enter  it  again  ?  The  thought  made  me  desperate. 
Heretofore  it  had  been  Horace  Parkridge  who  had 
done  all  the  brave  things  in  these  parts.  Why 
should  I  not  throw  away  my  life  and  done  with 
it,  here,  meeting  these  hungry  dogs  ?  They  were 
evidently  on  my  scent.  Horace  and  Cynthia 
might  by  this  time  be  clean  over  the  hill  and 
beyond  any  danger  from  these  red  mouths, 
unless  Cynthia's  horse  had  yielded  to  that 
chill. 

I  pulled  up  on  the  top  of  a  yet  higher  knoll  in 
Farmer  Hampden's  pasture,  and  dismounted  that 
I  might  hear  the  better.  The  bark  of  the  wolves 
was  now  plainly  audible,  borne  on  the  silent  frosty 
night.  The  sound  angered  me.  The  late  moon 
was  lifting  her  sickly  last  half  above  the  eastern 
mountains.  By  stooping  down  I  got  the  light 
right,  and,  straining  my  eyes,  I  saw  them — the 
heavy  thick  gray  bodies — skirting  the  woods 
away  back  there.  They  had  not  yet  broken  into 
the  open.  I  wished  they  would ;  I  might  then  know 
the  numbers  of  this  uncanny  pack.*  There,  they 
now  slip  down  from  the  maple  covers.  They 
come — one,  four,  six,  one  more,  seven,  another  lag- 


103 


gard  down  from  the  woods,  eight,  yet  another 
gaunt  fellow,  nine. 

"  Princess,  we'll  show  them  our  heels,"  I  cried, 
and  sprang  back  into  the  saddle.  "  Now,  then, 
over  the  rail-fence,  my  beauty." 

But  the  mare  had  lost  her  spirit  or  self-com- 
mand. She  struck  the  top  bar  and  fell.  She  was 
up  and  away  before  I  could  get  her.  Heavens ! 
the  fool !  She  ran  down  the  hill  towards  the 
pack.  Horses  ai-e  such  fatalists  in  danger :  they 
will  return  to  a  fire  after  you  have  led  them  out, 
if  left  at  liberty.  The  poor  beast  had  hurt  her 
knee.  She  fell  in  the  valley  ten  rods  back,  and 
the  wolves  pounced  on  her  two  minutes  later. 
Perhaps  I  was  equally  foolish.  I  could  not  en- 
dure the  sight.  Wrenching  a  i*ail  from  the  fence, 
I  ran  down  the  hill,  and  leaped  in  among  the  pack. 
But  a  fang  is  the  worst  thing  to  fight  except  with 
rifle  and  powder. 

I  would  not  dwell  on  this  but  that  I  wish  to 
leave  on  record  a  truthful  experience,  so  rare  in 
New  England,  that  many  a  modern  reader  will 
not  believe  it.  In  two  minutes  the  horse  was 
ruined.  She  diverted  the  pack,  however.  Half- 
dog  as  the  creatures  were,  they  seemed,  moreover, 
to  shrink  away  from  a  man.  But  their  ribs 
showed  under  their  mangy  gray  coats.  They 
were  starved  to  desperation. 

Oh,  sickening  sight  to  see  two  frothy  jaws  tear 
at  the  pretty  flanks  of  the  prostrate  filly  ! 

"  Out  of  life,  you  beast ;  and  you,  and  you  !"  I 


104 


cried,  as  I  wielded  ray  rail.  Yelp  and  snarl, 
whack  of  blows  :  it  was  pandemonium  of  growls 
and  thwacks.  Crack !  Heaven  help  me !  My 
fence-rail  snapped.  I  felt  a  strange  sensation — a 
rending,  piercing,  tearing  of  the  leg  just  above 
my  boot-top.  I  knew  enough  of  anatomy  to  fore- 
tell what  would  come.  I  should  faint  soon  from 
the  loss  of  blood.  I  ahvays  carried  a  sheathed 
pruning  -  knife  in  the  pocket  over  my  hip.  I 
reached  for  it,  and  the  sheath  slipped  off.  The 
dog's  fangs  that  held  it  scratched  my  hand,  but 
I  used  the  knife  once,  twice,  a  third  time.  And  I 
used  something  better  than  a  knife,  my  human 
cry. 

"  Hod,  Hod,  help,  help,  for  God's  sake  !"  Will 
he  hear?  I  remember  now  the  echoes,  how  they 
flew.  I  can  see  now  the  alarmed  stare  of  some 
of  those  beasts'  eyes  as  they  looked  up  while  the 
echo  run  and  resounded.  Then,  too,  they  had 
somewhat  satisfied  their  hunger.  They  were  not 
Siberian  wolves.  The  American  creature  is  less 
desperate  and  more  wild.  They  began  to  slink 
away  at  the  resonance  of  the  echo.  The  leader 
leaped  out  first,  then  bounded  off.  The  pack  les- 
sened, so  I  thought.  Then  I  heard  the  crack  of 
a  rifle. 

Death  by  loss  of  blood  is  like  going  to  sleep, 
so  they  say.  I  slept,  looking  last,  with  a  prayer, 
up  to  the  three  stars  in  the  belt  of  the  Orion. 


CHAPTER   VII 

"  You  must  lie  very  quietly,  Elisha."  These 
were  the  first  words  that  I  heard  on  regaining 
consciousness,  and  the  sweet  full  lips  of  Mary 
Holyoke  spoke  them. 

My  head  was  swimming,  and  I  believed  I  was 
recovering  from  a  faint,  there  on  the  snow-crust. 
Mary  was  a  dream. 

"  Hod,"  I  whispered,  starting  to  rise  up  on  my 
elbow,  "has  the  Littlewood  girl  escaped?" 

"It  is  not  Horace.  He  had  just  gone  home  for 
a  night's  sleep."  It  was  the  real  flesh-and-blood 
Mary  Holyoke  who  replied  to  me.  "It  is  I, 
Elisha,"  she  continued,  bending  over  me.  "You 
must  obey  me,  and  lie  down  again."  She  pressed 
me  back  again  on  the  pillow.  A  fragrance  as 
from  a  summer  land  seemed  to  salute  me  as  this 
quiet  woman  touched  me  with  her  compassion. 

I  obeyed  her  ;  indeed,  I  fell  back,  conscious  of 
my  faintness.  After  a  little  I  got  my  breath  to 
ask,  "Did  Cynthia  escape?"  I  thought  I  would 
thus  feel  my  way  back  into  the  living  world  once 
more. 

"  From  the  wolfish  dogs?    Yes." 

"  What  do.you  mean,  Mary  ?" 


106 


"But  from  the  elegant-tiger,  no." 

"  Please  do  not  trouble  my  poor  bead,  sweet 
neighbor,"  I  protested,  putting  my  hand  to  my 
brow. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  tell  him  more  particularly 
about  things  ?"  said  a  soft  low  voice  from  near 
the  window,  Avhich  I  recognized  as  Mrs.  Park- 
ridge's.  She  sat  near  the  window,  through  which 
the  twilight  colors  fell.  As  she  spoke  she  gath- 
ered up  her  knitting-work  and  rose  to  her  feet, 
more  feeble  than  when  I  saw  her  last. 

"  I  must  now  think  of  returning  home,"  she 
continued  ;  "the  night  is  gathering.  I  will  speak 
to  your  father,  Mary,  or  to  Mrs.  Cark.  Tell  him 
some  things  that  have  happened  in  these  weeks, 
then  beg  him  to  be  quiet.  He  will  be  better  sat- 
isfied with  a  few  words,  I  am  sure,  from  you  than 
from  anybody  else.  Moreover,  the  doctor  thought 
it  wiser  to  help  his  returning  intelligence."  And 
she  left  the  room,  casting  a  beaming  maternal 
gaze  upon  me. 

Very  promptly  Mrs.  Cark  entered.  I  do  not 
know  what  spiritual  warning  prompted  me,  but 
she  reminded  me  of  a  great  cat. 

"  Tell  her  to  go  out,"  I  protested.  My  house- 
keeper heard  it,  and  without  other  orders  retreat- 
ed. As  soon  as  her  spark  -  like  eyes  were  gone 
the  lamp  seemed  to  burn  brighter,  and  the  room 
to  glow.  Cats'  eyes  hasten  the  gloaming. 

Mary  then  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  leaned  for- 
ward and  touched  my  head,  putting  back  the 


107 


straggling  locks  of  hair.  To  think  of  it  !  That  she 
was  under  my  roof  again,  that  was  enough.  But 
no,  she  was  in  my  own  room.  She  was  there  as 
an  angel  to  minister  to  me,  and  her  cool  soft 
strong  palm  was  falling  on  my  forehead  again, 
again,  again,  ceaselessly.  My  brows,  you  know, 
resemble  an  acre  in  a  rough  pasture,  and  are  as 
homely ;  moreover,  now  they  were  swept  by 
storms  of  pain  till  she  touched  them.  But  I  lay 
there  speechless,  and  daring  to  dream  that  my 
plain  features  might  have  some  comeliness  under 
the  flutter  of  that  hand. 

"You  have  been  very  ill,  Elisha." 

"  Yes  ?     How  long  ?" 

"  It  is  now  the  sixth  of  February." 

"Two  months  of  oblivion.  Impossible,"  I 
sighed  ;  and  the  pain  came  back  again  in  my 
head. 

"You  were  sadly  hurt,  Elisha,"  she  replied, 
soothingly — "  you  were  bitten  by  those  dogs,  the 
wolves." 

"  Who  fired  the  rifle  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Who  but  your  own  ever  true  friend,  who 
loves  you  dearly,  and  would  die  for  you  ?" 

"  God  bless  him,  Horace  Parkridge.  He  must 
have  had  a  rifle  then  at  his  sugar-camp,  and  re- 
turned to  get  it." 

The  tears  came  to  my  eyes,  I  was  so  weak. 
Then  I  added  once  more  :  "  I  suppose  Cynthia 
got  safely  home  ?  Horace  left  her  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  Horace  left  her,"  she  replied.     Her  great 


108 


brown  eyes  had  such  a  pity  on  my  feebleness  as 
she  went  on  : 

"  Elisha,  I  think  you  must  know  more  of  what 
has  happened  since  you  have  been  ill.  You  have 
had  a  long  delirium,  the  result  of  the  virus  of 
those  fangs,  perhaps  ;  but  you  will  recover  now, 
we  hope,  though  it  will  require  some  time.  I 
want  you  to  ask  God's  help  to  bear  what  I  now 
have  to  tell  you.  I  have  myself — oh,  so  cease- 
lessly ! — prayed  to  Him  for  you  ;  and  dear  papa, 
who  loves  you  like  a  son,  has  knelt  many  a  night 
here  by  your  bedside  praying  for  you." 

The  tears  that  swam  in  her  eyes  lent  them  a 
lustre  that  I  had  never  seen  in  them  before. 
Whether  it  was  pity  or  love,  I  could  not  say.  I 
raised  my  feeble  hand  to  clasp  her  own.  She 
suffered  it,  and,  pressing  my  hand  hard,  returned 
to  her  task. 

"  You  must  try  to  be  brave.  Can  you  endure 
what  I  must  now  tell  you  ?" 

A  sick  man  is  cowardly  weak.  Half-frightened 
by  her  portent,  and  yet  resolved  by  God's  help 
to  be  worthy  of  her  ministry,  I  answered,  "  What 
has  happened  ?" 

"  Cynthia  and  Mr.  Felton  are  to  be  married." 

I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "  Is  that  all  ? 
Well,  Heaven  send  Horace  a  worthier  love  !" 

"  Ma)r  He,  indeed  !"  she  breathed  it  fervently. 
Then  she  resumed,  "they  are  to  be  married  in  this 
house." 

"  Great  God  !  has  the  case  been  to  court  ?"     I 


109 


sprang  up  in  bed  as  I  spoke  the  appeal  to  Heaven, 
and  glared  at  the  gentle  creature  till  she  moved 
to  the  door  and  softly  called  : 

"  Papa,  will  you  come  in  ?"  And  the  dear  old 
soul  entered,  sinking  down  upon  the  side  of  my 
bed,  and  trying  by  many  words  which  I  cannot 
now  set  down  to  soothe  my  excitement. 

"  The  surrogate  has  decided,  for  his  part,  that 
the  will  brought  forward  by  Mrs.  Cark — 

"Heavens,  man!  Cark  —  my  old  witch  of  a 
house-keeper?"  I  began  to  gasp  for  breath  from 
very  weakness,  and  that  pain  in  my  head  at  the 
base  of  the  brain  returned  as  if  a  hot  iron  were 
being  thrust  in  there. 

"Try  to  bear  up,  Elisha,"  urged  Abner  Hoi- 
yoke.  "  God  help  him,  Christ  help  him  to  bear 
up  ! — for  you  must  be  removed  to  my  farm-house 
at  once." 

"  You  are  innocent  of  all  intentional  fraud,  in 
our  minds,"  Mary  hastened  to  resume,  arguing 
her  way  for  my  reassurance.  "Say  what  they 
will  in  this  neighborhood — taught  by  Mr.  Little- 
wood,  for  his  own  defending,  of  course  —  say 
what  they  will,  we  believe  that  you  are  innocent 
of  any  intentional  wrong."  She  fanned  these 
words  upon  me  as  if  each  dash  of  air  were  her 
benediction. 

"  Innocent  ?"  I  groaned  ;  "  I  shall  go  mad  !" 

"  The  surrogate  himself  " — earnestly  old  Abner 
said  it — "  and  the  elder  and  Mrs.  Parkridge  went 
before  the  grand  jury  and  prayed  that  no  indict- 


110 


ment  should  be  brought  in,  and  God's  holy  spirit  de- 
fended you.  It  is  enough  that  you  lose  your  home." 

"  Oh,  merciful  God  !"  I  cried,  "  if  there  be  a 
God — can  there  be  a  God,  and  this  old  grasping 
hypocrite  be  blessed  in  his  scheming  ?  Can  there 
be  a  God,  and  this  young  scamp,  who  says  that 
there  is  no  God  known  to  science,  be  himself  the 
winner  in  this  black  fraud  against  me  ?"  Then 
that  pain  returned  at  the  base  of  the  brain.  I 
grew  too  confused  to  trust  my  tongue.  I  over- 
heard Mary  sobbing,  and,  as  I  did  not  speak,  say- 
ing to  her  father  : 

"Papa,  papa,  I  love  him  !  But  see  !  his  mind 
is  a  complete  wreck.  Will  he  ever  recover?  We 
ought  not  to  have  told  him.  Oh,  we  could  have 
removed  him  just  as  well  without." 

Her  father  was  on  his  knees,  holding  my  hands, 
praying  in  one  breath,  speaking  soothing  words 
to  me  in  the  next,  and  saying:  "Yes,  yes; 
he  will  recover.  Such  a  giant  frame,  such  tem- 
perance, and  such  a  bride  to  live  for !  O  God, 
with  Thee  all  things  are  possible !  He  will  re- 
cover ;  but,  Mary,  remember  what  the  doctors 
said — open  air,  and  a  long  time." 

Now,  I  recall  all  this  perfectly.  Then  I  thought 
I  slept.  From  my  sleep  about  midnight  I  thought 
I  awoke,  and  found  myself  walking  in  the  upper 
hall  of  my  house.  I  was  carrying  at  arm's-length 
the  huge  old  portrait  of  Senator  Bosworth,  study- 
ing it  as  I  strode  along.  I  went  on  towards  the 
closed  room  in  the  wing. 


Ill 


"  Come  on,  Peleg !"  I  cried  to  my  man. 

"I  dassent,"  whispered  Peleg.  "I  vurn,  I'm 
afraid." 

"  Get  your  axe,  you  old  Californian  !"  I  or- 
dered. "  Open  that  door  !  Felton  is  to  be  mar- 
ried here.  We  want  the  whole  house  illuminated. 
Come  on,  Felton;  I  will  show  you  every  room  in 
it."  It  was  a  most  circumstantial  dream. 

"  Catch  hold  of  him — restrain  him  !"  I  heard 
Felton  cry  it  distinctly.  "He  has  escaped  from 
his  chamber — he  is  in  his  delirium." 

Then,  with  a  powerful  grasp,  I  thought  I  caught 
Peleg  around  the  body,  and  hurled  his  little,  hard, 
gnarled  person  against  that  closed  door.  It  burst 
open.  Instead  of  cobwebs  and  old  boxes,  dust 
and  emptiness,  there  stood  a  creature  luminous 
in  white.  The  room  was  furnished  in  luxury. 
Who  was  this  ghastly  shape  ?  And  yet,  while  I 
asked  who  it  was,  I  seemed  to  see  Mrs.  Cark — I 
said  so.  "  Cark  !  Cark  !  I  detect  you  under  your 
disguise.  I  now  understand  you  have  nested  in 
this  quarter  of  my  house.  Your  room  connects 
by  the  back  stairs  in  the  tower." 

At  the  same  time  the  figure  made  no  reply,  and 
it  was  transparent — the  stars  shone  through  it.  I 
saw  out  of  windows  the  flush  of  breaking  day, 
and  the  rich  red  colors  along  the  east  were  per- 
fectly visible  through  the  strange  form. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  LET  them  breathe,  Elisha.  The  sun  is  getting 
warm.  Ease  up  on  your  yoke,  there.  Brindle, 
back,  sir.  Steers  don't  know  how  to  work,  any- 
way." 

This  is  the  next  thing  that  I  remember  with 
any  degree  of  clearness.  Horace  spoke  it  to  me 
in  a  kindly  way — much  as  a  father  would  speak 
to  a  child.  There  I  stood  in  the  field.  It  was 
early  May.  We  were  just  below  Elder  Park- 
ridge's  farm-house.  I  was  in  the  act  of  driving 
oxen  for  Horace  to  plough.  Then  the  dear  fellow 
pointed  at  me  with  one  lifted  arm  while  with  the 
other  he  beckoned  to  two  ladies  who  were  sitting 
under  the  old  elm  by  the  garden  gate.  Evidently 
there  was  something  about  me  to  excite  surprise 
that,  visible  to  others,  was  as  startling  as  my 
strange  sensations  of  returning  intelligence  were 
to  my  own  consciousness. 

"  Mary,  mother,  come  here  !"  he  cried.  "  Elisha 
has  broken  his  melancholy  at  last !" 

Then  he  flew  over  to  me  and  stood  staring  me 
in  the  face,  saying, "  Smile  again,  old  boy.  Thank 
God,  to  see  you  smile!  I  would  give  a  hundred 
dollars  if  you  would  laugh  outright." 


113 


"Hod,"  I  protested,  "what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  Let  me  alone.  What  does  the  deacon  want 
yonder?  I  see  him  climbing  up  on  the  highway 
Avail.  There  is  his  carriage  halted,  with  his  wife 
sitting  holding  the  lines.  Attend  to  him,  and  get 
rid  of  him.  Mrs.  Littlewood  will  be  impatient. 
Then  come,  and  we  will  talk.  My  head  is  clear- 
ing." 

It  seems  that  my  remark  concerning  these  vis- 
itors was  the  first  connected  sentence  that  had 
fallen  from  my  lips  for  many  weary  weeks.  It 
is  impossible  to  attempt  a  description  of  that 
strangest  consciousness  that  perhaps  mortals  ever 
have  on  this  footstool  —  the  recovery  from  syn- 
cope, or  brain  injury. 

Oh,  that  last  clear  consciousness  of  that  Feb- 
ruary night !  The  figures  of  my  delirium,  the 
sufferings  of  my  mind,  as  I  walked  through  those 
three  months  in  cloud  and  mist,  struggling  to 
break  the  darkness  that  shrouded  me !  Then,  the 
next  I  knew,  here  I  stood,  myself  again,  in  the 
bursting  of  the  May  morning.  A  winter's  night; 
a  summer's  day !  I  knew  not  what  had  passed  in 
that  long  interim,  yet  evidently  I  had  eaten  and 
slept,  and  gone  about  my  daily  task  under  the 
kind  care  of  my  watchful  friends. 

Horace  turned  away  from  me,  and  ran  to  meet 
Mary  Holyoke  and  his  mother,  who  stopped  a  few 
moments,  like  two  startled  deer,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ploughed  furrows,  and  gazed  at  me  with 
clasped  hands.  For  some  reason  they  came  no 


114 


nearer.     I  caught  the  last  part  of  the  sentence 
that  he  flung  across  the  furrows  to  them  : 

"  True,  himself  again.  But  don't  mortify  him  ; 
don't  notice." 

"  Yis,  brethering  " — Mr.  Littlewood  was  shout- 
ing it  out  to  us  as  he  stood  there,  just  on  the  top 
stone  of  the  highway  wall,  north  of  the  field — 
"  I'm  afeerd  I  sh'll  tumble  daown  some  o'  yer 
loose  stun  wall."  The  next  instant  he  had  done 
so,  nearly  tumbling  flat  himself  too,  crying  out: 
"  Barked  my  heel  a  little !"  and  holding  up  his 
foot  to  rub  it. 

I  remember  that  it  was  that  small  avalanche  of 
cobble-stones  rattling  after  the  springing  deacon, 
as  he  jumped  down  among  the  brambles  and  net- 
tles, which  awoke  my  laughter  from  its  long  sleep, 
and  seemed  to  give  my  lucid  moments  a  stability 
once  more — a  good  hearty  laugh. 

Then  approaching  us,  holding  his  neat,  broad- 
brimmed  straw  in  hand,  and  mopping  his  red 
brows,  Deacon  Littlewood  began  his  usual  ora- 
tory, addressing  himself  to  Elder  Parkridge  main- 
ly, though  Abner  Holyoke  stood  by,  he  having 
been  working  at  laying  out  the  garden-beds. 

"Brethering,  this  is  jest  splendid,"  Littlewood 
sang  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "Abigail,  toss 
me  my  ambrell  from  under  the  seat.  Brethering, 
so  much  business  lately  has  gin  me  the  headache, 
and  I  must  be  keerful  of  the  sun,  but  we  must 
'member 

'"There'll  be  no  more  sorrow  there.' 


115 


"I  jist  druv  over  this  splendid  weather  to  see 
yer.  The  hevings  is  now  droppin'  blessin's  on 
th'  airth  by  the  cart-load.  Sich  blessin's  soak  me 
thru  and  thru.  To  be  out  in  sich  showers  o'  bless- 
in's as  this  May  weather  brings  's  'nuff  ter  stir  a 
man's  thankful  heart." 

His  all-black  eyes  twinkled  in  a  snaky  way  as 
he  went  on  :  "  Brethering,  look  raoun'  at  th' 
hills.  'As  th' mountaings  is  raoun' abaout  J'roos- 
lem.'  When  I  left  hum  I  thought  we's  ter  hev  a 
blessid  thunder-shower.  Them  clouds,"  turning 
his  head  on  his  round-shouldered,  thick,  well-pre- 
served body,  and  then  dropping  his  sentences  with 
his  glance, "but  it's  all  the  same  to  any  man  who's 
humble  V  livin'  right.  I  kin  smile  at  Satan's  rage 
in  a  reg'lar  rippin'  tearin'  roarin'  storm,  sich  's  'ud 
tear  the  linin'  outer  Natur's  beautiful  spring  gar- 
mints  o'  praise,  when  I  know  I'm  doin'  my 
dooty."  Then  he  gave  us  that  cracking  laugh 
of  which  I  have  spoken  before.  By  this  time 
he  was  near  enough  to  Horace  to  poke  the  boy 
with  his  lisle-thread  gloved  finger  in  the  side  and 
ask  : 

"How's  he?"  with  a  dark  glance  and  a  move- 
ment of  his  chin  in  the  direction  of  his  thumb, 
indicating  me.  Horace  frowned,  but  answered 
politely  enough : 

"We  trust  he  is  improving.  Mr.  Littlewood, 
what  can  we  do  for  you  to-day  ?" 

"Very  mysterious  complaint,  neighbor.  I'll 
speak  ter  him." 


116 


"Don't!" 

"  Why  not  ?     I  only  done  ray  dooty." 

"Mr.  Littlewood,"  said  Horace,  sternly,  "if 
you  regard  your  course  as  duty,  that  is  between 
you  and  your  God;  but  don't  risk  further  injuring 
a  man  whom  you  and  your  family  have  savagely 
wronged,  however  legally.  Don't  approach  him : 
that  would  be  further  injury." 

"  Oh,  jist  as  you  say,  'xactly.  I  guess  any  the 
rest  on  yer'd  ha'  done  the  same  ef  yer  darter  had 
a  five-thousand-dollar  farm  at  stake.  Bizness  is 
bizness  an'  religion's  religion.  I  keep  'em  sep'- 
rit.  That's  th'  only  way  't  yer  kin  keep  'em  both 
safe.  Religion's  too  sacred  a  thing  to  be  mixed 
up  with  this  ere  airth.  It  gets  easy  siled  'f  a  man 
ain't  keerful  of  his  religion." 

For  myself,  I  was  yet  standing  in  a  dreamy 
awakening.  I  was  drinking  in  the  sunlight,  the 
sweet  air,  the  breath  of  flowers ;  and  the  faces  of 
my  dearest  earthly  friends  were  beaming  on  me 
there.  I  scarcely  noticed  Littlewood  until,  hop- 
ping nearer,  in  a  moment  more  he  was  bending 
over  the  plough -handles  in  front  of  me.  He 
cried  out  to  Horace : 

"  Let  'em  go.  I  want  t'  talk  t'  yer.  Yer  take 
the  whip  'n  I'll  take  th'  handles.  Let  our  friend 
stand  aside.  Git  up  there,  Brindle."  At  the  same 
time  he  prodded  the  nigh  beast  with  the  closed 
umbrella,  which  he  also  clutched  in  the  same  hand 
that  was  holding  the  plough.  The  steers  started  as 
if  they  were  shot.  The  plough  caught  an  apple- 


117 


tree  root,  and  the  handles  knocked  loudly  at  the 
old  man's  ribs. 

"Dan -net!  Why,  we're  all  roots  here,  boy. 
Easy,  Brindle."  A  fluff  of  May  wind  caught  his 
umbrella  and  opened  it.  The  unusual  sight  of 
Littlewood's  broadly  flaring  linen  duster  and  this 
spread  umbrella  skipping  towards  the  steer  drove 
the  little  good  sense  that  the  creature  usually  had 
utterly  out  of  his  head.  Away  he  started,  pull- 
ing his  mate  with  him  over  the  fields,  the  plough 
skipping  like  a  doctor's  gig. 

"  Why,  dan-net,  boy  !"  yelled  Mr.  Littlewood  ; 
"  they're  goin'  ter  thunderin'  lightnin'  —  good 
Lord  ! — inter  them  brambles !" 

Horace  and  I  sprang  after  the  cattle.  There 
were  three  heifers  feeding  quietly  in  the  next  lot 
to  the  west.  I  smile,  even  now,  over  my  paper 
as  I  recall  that  scene.  When  those  three  skittish 
young  milkers,  frightened  by  the  yoke -rings' 
clangor  and  the  wild  charge  of  the  steers,  went 

O  O  7 

over  the  wall  into  the  highway,  with  bleating 
voices  and  tails  in-  air  like  pennants,  I  laughed 
aloud  and  long. 

"  Thank  God,  oh,  thank  Heaven !"  cried  Hor- 
ace, stopping  in  his  tracks  and  gazing  at  me. 
"  Now  look,  old  friend,  and  laugh  again  ;  it  will 
be  your  cure.  You  cannot  understand  what  I 
mean;  but  one  of  these  days  you  will  know,  when 
you  are  told  how  long  men  have  listened  in  vain 
for  your  laugh,  and  have  not  seen  even  a  smile." 

I  looked  aS  his  hand  pointed,  and  I  began  again 


118 


to  shake  my  sides  with  laughter.  The  speckled 
heifers  made  a  dash  past  the  deacon's  wife,  sit- 
ting so  demurely  in  the  carriage  on  the  highway, 
the  lines  lying  idly  on  her  lap,  and  her  knitting- 
work  over  her  fingers.  The  horse  gave  one  tre- 
mendous sudden  shy  and  bolted. 

"  Why,  dan-net  to  dannation,  Abigail !"  yelled 
Mr.  Littlewood,  scrambling  up  towards  the  wall 
through  the  tangle  of  brambles  and  nettles.  "Ab- 
bie,  saw  his  mouth ! — saw  him  !  Pull  the  bit  right 
and  left;  and  light  out,  my  gal,  and  get  him  by 
the  head,  or  you'll  go  to  kingdom  come !"  At  the 
same  time  he  began  to  climb  the  wall.  The  next 
moment  his  exhortation  was  muffled  by  the  bram- 
bles under  which  the  devoted  old  man  lay  prone. 
Mrs.  Littlewood  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  how- 
ever, so  far  as  her  duty  was  concerned,  and  sawed 
the  bit  promptly  enough  until  she  had  her  beast 
under  control. 

Horace  and  the  great  long -limbed  elder  both 
reached  Mr.  Littlewood  about  the  same  time,  and 
began  as  gently  as  they  could  to  extract  him  from 
the  briers.  I  was  simply  useless  with  laughter. 
There,  while  I  was  leaning  against  the  bar -post, 
as  I  shook  and  doubled,  a  strange  sensation  of  re- 
turning life  came  over  me.  The  whole  of  the 
Creator's  bright  world  of  living  men  and  women, 
of  fair  fields  and  glorious  sun,  was  perfectly  un- 
veiled to  me  once  more.  The  luxury  of  it — that 
never-to-be-forgotten  laugh!  The  night  of  hor- 
rors, the  oblivion  of  life,  the  melancholy  of  that 


119 


blackness  fled  away,  and  memory  of  men  and 
things  and  events,  and  courage,  hope,  and  life 
—  yea,  existence  —  coming  again  with  every 
breath. 

"  Easy,  brethering,  easy !"  scolded  Littlewood 
to  his  rescuers.  "Them  blackberry  bushes  o'  yourn 
's  mighty  caressin'.  Don't  tear  my  duster  all  ter 
tattereens.  You  pull 's  if  I's  a  tarnation  stump  in 
a  burnt  piece." 

The  gigantic  elder  was  chewing  his  tongue  for 
dear  life  to  prevent  unfraternal  remarks  in  return. 
But  finally  he  straightened  up  his  unfortunate 
parishioner,  in  about  the  same  way  that  I  have 
forty  times  seen  him  settle  a  meal  bag  on  the  barn 
floor,  with  a  thump. 

"  Thank  the  Lord !  Why,  elder,  I'm  all  net- 
tles. That  was  pesky  near  " — then,  scratching  his 
smarting  hands,  and  caressing  himself  gently — 
"near  to  —  why,  I'm  all  opedilldock  burrs  in  my 
hair  —  near  to  costing  me  twenty-five  dollars  fer 
repairs  on  Cynthy's  new  buggy.  Thank  th'  Lord ! 
Brethering,  I'm  always  more  thankful  when  I 
save  a  penny  than  fer  all  my  other  fleetin'  bless- 
in's  here  below.  We  must  be  keerful  of  our 
pennies.  Horace,  you  and  th'  other  young  folks 
don't  know  th'  value  of  those  pesky  things,  dol- 
lars. Money's  only  for  this  brief  sphere  of  onr'n, 
and  therefore  we  oughter  be  more  keerful  on't 
while  we  have  it." 

Our  neighbor  was  going  on  with  this  homily  as 
he  pulled  himSelf  again  into  shape,  and  got  down 


120 


to  business  in  his  own  thoughts.  He  was  feeling 
his  way  back  as  promptly  as  could  be,  to  cover 
his  chagrin,  towards  that  serious  errand  that  had 
brought  him  here  among  people  whom  he  knew 
had  every  reason  to  dislike  him. 

"Now,  Littlewood,  see  here,"  said  the  elder, 
picking  the  burrs  off  his  neighbor's  clothing, 
"  you're  well  escaped  out  of  that  misfortune.  You 
ought  to  be  kindly  disposed  towards  all  your  fel- 
low-creatures. You've  got  a  suit  of  dispossession 
on  Holyoke's  farm  also.  To  be  sure,  you  say 
your  notes  ain't  all  quite  paid,  but  if  that  boy  there 
hadn't  been  involved  in  this  mysterious  dispensa- 
tion of  Providence,  he'd  have  paid  all  that  Abner 
owed  you,  as  he  did  at  the  bank  for  him.  Now, 
let  Holyoke  go  easy.  You  don't  want  his  goods 
and  chattels,  and  we'll  keep  him  over  here  in  our 
house,  for  it's  large  enough  for  him  and  his  darter. 
Don't  beggar  two  neighbors." 

"What  do  I  hear?"  I  demanded,  confronting 
the  two  men  with  amazement. 

The  elder  bent  on  me  a  pitying  gaze,  which 
was  brightened  somewhat  with  surprise  and  hope. 
Then  he  began  slowly  to  address  me,  his  kindly 
eyes  studying  the  effect  of  every  word : 

"  Elisha,  bless  God,  dear  boy,  you  appear  more 
like  bein'  clothed  and  in  yer  right  mind  than  for 
many  a  long  sad  day.  Come  here."  He  leaned 
one  long  arm  on  my  shoulder,  while  he  used  the 
other  to  draw  the  venerable  Abner  Holyoke  into 
the  trio.  We  thus  confronted  Mr.  Littlewood. 


121 


"  This  frugal  neighbor  of  our'n,"  the  elder  went 
on,  with  a  nod  of  his  head  towards  Deacon  Little- 
wood,  "has  in  his  clus  way  foreclosed  a  mortgage 
given  in  lieu  of  Abner's  note.  Littlewood  is  a 
righteous  man,  very  righteous.  He  has  got  a 
title  to  Abner's  acres." 

"  But  that  don't  pay  me  his  debt  in  full,"  snap- 
ped out  Littlewood. 

"His  debts,  man  !"  I  exploded.  "  I — I  paid  his 
debts,  as  far  as  I  knew,  and  got  releases.  I  burned 
the  notes." 

The  old  creditor  rubbed  his  chin  and  smiled 
one  of  those  guileless  grimaces  of  his,  which 
would  perhaps  have  disarmed  a  stranger.  "  Yis, 
but,  poor  lad,  yer  checks  was  wuthless.  You 
meant  to  be  kind — to  make  a  show  of  it,  at  least, 
fer  his  darter's  sake,  no  doubt ;  but  the  doctors' 
commission  sot  on  yer  mental  state,  and  let  yer 
off  as  bein'  of  unsound  mind  in  the  upper  story. 
The  judge  seed  as  how  yer  farm  was  my  darter's, 
and  there  was  nothin'  yourn.  Yer  crop  money  in 
th'  bank  I  trusteed." 

"  Yes ;  but,  you  most  grasping  neighbor,  how 
came  there  any  mortgage  on  Abner  Holyoke's 
homestead  ?" 

"He  gin  some  ter  the  savin's-bank,  and  one  to 
me." 

"Man,"  I  raged,  "I  had  paid  his  notes  and  de- 
stroyed them,  and  cleared  his  property." 

"Yis,  yer  poor  cretur,"  swinging  his  lisle-thread 
finger  at  me,  *'but  I  trusteed  your  bank  account; 


122 


in  th'  int'rest  of  jestice  I  done  it,  and  yer  checks 
war'n't  wuth  nothin'." 

I  lifted  my  band  to  smite  this  old  hypocrite. 

That  instant  I  felt  something  give  way  at  the 
base  of  the  brain.  It  was  not  a  pain — no,  not  that 
old  sensation  of  a  black  cloud  shot  through  with 
chain-lightning,  which  I  had  so  often  felt.  It  was 
rather  as  if  the  last  hillock  of  a  mountain  had 
been  finally  lifted  from  my  neck,  and  I  stood 
erect.  It  was  an  ecstasy  !  Oh,  it  was  an  infinite 
relief,  a  repose,  a  joy  !  It  was  health,  not  only 
coming  back  again,  but  established  forever.  My 
laughter  had  been  the  first  sign  of  its  return. 
The  poison  blood-clot  from  the  wolf's  fang — that 
rabies,  against  which  my  poor  giant  frame  had 
struggled  so  long,  and  which  would  have  crushed 
a  feebler  man  to  the  earth — was  gone ! 

"  Gone,  kind  Heaven,  I  thank  thee  !"  I  fervent- 
ly exclaimed,  and  with  my  hands  to  my  brow  I 
sank  upon  my  knees.  "  I  praise  Thee,  Lord  God 
Almighty,"  I  fairly  sobbed.  "  It  is  in  answer  to 
Mary  Holyoke's  prayers,  the  prayers  of  her  godly 
father.  There  is  a  Supreme  Ruler — there  is,  there 
is!" 

"Elisha,  dear  Elisha" — with  measureless  com- 
miseration Horace  spake  it,  as  he  sprang  to  me 
and  began  lifting  me — "this  is  too  much  for  you. 
I  could  curse  that  old  fellow  who  has  plunged 
you  back  again  into  your —  Come,  let's  get  on 
our  feet  and  go  up  to  the  house." 

"  Mary,  come  over  here  !"  shouted  the  elder  to 


123 


the  ladies,  who  were  still  on  the  other  side  of  the 
furrows. 

"  I  will  go  and  explain  why  we  want  her,  or  she 
might  shrink  from  encountering  our  friend  here," 
said  her  father, with  a  glance  towards  the  deacon. 
I  noticed  for  the  first  time  how  feeble  and  broken 
the  lovely  old  man  had  grown. 

"Yes,  go,"  the  elder  added;  "he  will  obey  her 
in  his  most  wilful  moments."  Meanwhile  Mr. 
Littlewood  was  squared  off,  his  hands  splayed  out 
on  his  hips,his  shaven  visage  and  blank  stare,  with 
the  lips  apart,  turned  up  to  the  zenith.  In  a  curi- 
ous kind  of  groan  which  he  had,  and  which  indi- 
cated surprise,  he  uttered,  "A-w!" 

A  miserable  consciousness  of  shame, dashed  with 
anger,  swept  over  me.  Fully  alive  once  more  to 
all  this  splendid  world,  I  remember  I  asked  my- 
self, in  consideration  of  their  estimate  of  my  ac- 
tion, "Is  this  then  the  pitiable  plight  of  depen- 
dence in  which  I  have  been  living  before  my  kind 
neighbors  of  late?"  I  thought  of  King  Lear  in 
Mary's  favorite  play.  Not  that  I  was  ever  king- 
ly; though  every  man  is  a  king,  Heaven  knows, 
who  has  his  senses,  and  an  honest  man's  place 
among  his  fellow-men. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  pity  me,  Deacon  Little- 
wood!"  I  exclaimed,  bounding  to  my  feet.  "  Hod— 
God  bless  your  true  heart ! — take  your  hands  off 
me.  I  am  perfectly  myself  again.  I  am  Elisha 
Stone  once  more.  It  is  gone,  that  hideous  dark- 
ness. I  am  calm  and  self-possessed,  only  I  have 


134 


the  pent-up  wrath  of  a  mill-dam  when  I  see  that 
man's  foul  wrong  to  us  all." 

"  Heaven  knows,  I  believe  him,  father,"  re- 
sponded Horace,  and  tears  were  beginning  to 
streak  down  his  dusty  cheeks.  "We  haven't 
seen  that  appearance  in  his  eyes  for  many  a  day." 
And  he  wrung  my  hand,  but  held  it  fast  in  both 
of  his. 

The  elder  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "I  fear 
it  will  not  last.  This  excitement  is  bad.  But 
there  she  comes,"  said  he,  turning  his  head  tow- 
ards the  path  through  which  Mary  Holyoke  and 
his  good  wife  had  taken  their  way  to  come  to  us. 

"  Yes,"  I  protested ;  "  there  she  comes,  God's 
good  angel !  It  is  such  as  she,  and  this  dear 
family  here,  Mr.  Littlewood,  which  keep  man's 
faith  in  God  that  it  fly  not  up  from  the  earth 
like  frightened  larks  that  never  mean  to  return. 
But  you,  man,  you  robber,  with  whining  cant, 
you  are  like — I  will  say  it,  for  you  are  too  old 
to  grapple  with — you  are  like  a  crow  that  feeds 
on  the  carcasses  which  others  have  slain.  Your 
*  amens '  sound  to  me  like  '  caw,  caw,  caw.'  Now, 
go  get  into  your  vehicle  while  you  may."  I 
walked  near  enough  to  enforce  my  order  on  the 
next  instant. 

"Why,  why,  dan-net!"  exclaimed  Littlewood, 
stepping  back.  "The  boy  must  go  to  the  asy- 
lum, elder  ?"  he  whispered,  with  a  faint  laugh ; 
and  yet  there  were  both  anger  and  fear  in  the 
sound. 


125 


"  Go  !"  I  insisted,  striving — like  Samson,  all  my 
strength  returning — to  free  my  hand  from  Horace's 
fetter.  I  sprang  a  step  or  two  forward  as  I  loosed 
my  hand.  Mr.  Littlewood  went  through  that  bar- 
way  like  a  jumping-jack  on  a  pole  at  the  county 
fair,  and  tumbled  with  a  sprawl  on  his  wagon- 
seat.  Grasping  the  reins,  he  whipped,  up  and 
drove  away.  I  stood  and  watched  him  a  moment, 
until  a  few  rods  farther  up  the  highway  he  turned 
in  at  the  granite  gateway  of  what  had  been  once 
my  home. 

"  Does  Cynthia  live  there  ?"  I  demanded. 

"Don't  tell  him,"  protested  the  elder,  with  a 
quivering  lip  and  uncertain  tone. 

"  Hod  ?" — I  turned  to  him  to  insist  on  a  reply. 

"  I  pray  you  not  to  cherish  any  anger  against 
Cynthia,"  the  boy  answered.  "  We  all  see  plainly 
enough  now,  even  mother  sees,  where  the  girl  has 
got  her  promptings  and  guidings  for  the  course 
she  has  taken." 

"Tell  me,  has  she  gotten  possession?  Is  she 
married  to  that  fellow,  the  singer?"  I  was  re- 
lentless in  my  demand. 

"Don't  ask — don't  think  of  our  wrongs  now, 
Elisha,"  exclaimed  a  woman's  voice.  I  had  felt  her 
approach  at  my  left  much  as,  I  suppose,  a  stone 
ledge  must  feel  the  advance  of  daybreak,  though 
it  has  no  eyes,  for  I  had  no  eyes  towards  anything 
except  that  retreating  vehicle  in  the  highway. 

But  now  I  turned  to  greet  Mary  Holyoke.  She 
pulled  my  folded  arms  apart,  she  clasped  my 


126 


great  soiled  knuckles  with  her  long  twining  fin- 
gers of  white. 

"  Elisha,  my  son  " — this  voice  was  that  of  that 
dear  motherly  soul  Mrs.  Parkridge,  who  was  also 
at  my  side  now — "  we  did  indeed  know  that  our 
Heavenly  Father's  love  was  loving  kind  long  be- 
fore this  ;  but  now  that  He  lias  restored  you,  oh, 
how  good  He  is  !" 

"  Most  gracious  lady,"  I  answered  her,  "  my  best 
friend's  loving  mother,  I  don't  wonder  that  you 
can  lead  Horace  with  a  touch  of  your  finger.  You 
are  the  nearest  to  a  mother  that  I  ever  knew."  I 
was  in  such  a  softened  frame  of  mind  that  I 
stooped  over  the  little  creature,  and  just  where 
the  white  hairs  parted  on  her  forehead  I  kissed 
her. 

Beaming  on  me,  she  asked  :  "Mother,  did  you 
say,  Elisha? — did  you  think  of  me  as  mother,  child? 
I  knew  your  mother,  child  !  See — she  sleeps 
yonder  amid  those  graves  of  my  own  kin."  Her 
thin  trembling  finger  pointed  away  up  the  hill-side, 
where  the  white  marble  shone  in  her  own  private 
God's  acre. 

"My  mother?" 

"  His  mother?"  echoed  Mary. 

"  Elisha's  mother  ?"  chimed  in  Horace's  deep 
voice. 

"Yes,  children,"  she  resumed;  "a  fatherless, 
motherless  little  lad,  I  laid  this  lone  boy  in  my 
cradle  long  ago.  It  was  along  this  very  road  that 
the  dying  woman  wandered.  It  was  a  weary  night 


127 


in  harvest.  I  bad  seen  her  passing  and  repassing 
with  her  baby — you,  Elisha — in  her  arms  all  the 
afternoon.  As  it  grew  dark  she  sank  down  by  the 
stone  gate-post  of  the  Senator's  driveway  there.  I 
could  not  endure  the  sight  without  helping,  and 
went  to  her.  She  sat  leaning  her  head  against 
the  granite.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  face  was 
surpassingly  beautiful.  She  was  a  large  noble 
woman  of  five-and-thirty  years.  She  wore  rich 
garments,  but  they  were  all  in  tatters  and  travel- 
stained.  Her  hands  were  soft,  and  unused  to  hard 
labor,  I  am  sure.  She  was  dead,  and  you  were 
sleeping  in  her  embrace." 

We  younger  people  drank  this  all  in  with  silent 
wonder.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  was  as  much  news 
to  Horace  and  Mary  as  to  me.  Only  the  features 
of  the  two  men,  Mr.  Holyoke  and  Elder  Park- 
ridge,  revealed  recognition  of  the  story.  You 
may  be  sure  that,  for  the  moment,  I  could  not 
speak. 

"Her  simple  funeral  was  yonder  at  our  own 
house,"  added  the  elder,  fervently. 

"And  you  reared  the  baby?"  I  at  length  got 
woi-ds  to  add,  with  unspeakable  emotion. 

"Yes." 

After  a  further  silence,  when  all  this  came  fully 
upon  me,  and  I  had  some  measure  of  apprecia- 
tion of  its  height  and  depth  of  meaning,  I  broke 
the  sacred  stillness,  saying,  "For  that  I  ought  to 
thank  you,  and  I  do,  that  you  reared  me.  But 
more,  I  bless  you  that  these  kindly  hands,"  taking 


128 


hers  in  my  own,  "composed  my  mother  for  her 
burial.  For  that — oh,  for  that — anything !  While 
I  breathe  will  I  hold  myself  a  slave  to  do  for  you 
and  yours."  I  kissed  her  good  hands  over  and 
over  again. 

"Then  obey  me,  will  you?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  foster-mother,  I  covenant  before  God 
I  will  always  obey  you." 

"Then  promise  me  that  you  will  seek  no  re- 
venges on  the  unhappy  Mr.  Littlewood,  his  daugh- 
ter, or  Mr.  Felton." 

I  was  not  prepared  for  that — no,  not  for  that. 
Yet  I  managed  to  say, 

"I  promise  you.  Only  justice;  I  may  seek 
justice?" 

"  No  vengeance.     Leave  that  to  God." 

"Yes,  but  justice."    I  was  eager,  no  doubt. 

"  True,  in  due  time  I  will  help  you  to  that.  Per- 
haps the  law  will  help  you  too." 

"Now  tell  me  more  of  my  mother,"  I  was 
quick  to  demand. 

"  Elisha,  what  if  my  telling  you  of  your  mother 
were  to  rob  Horace  of  his  mother  ?" 

This  quite  took  my  breath  away.  After  a  mo- 
ment I  answered,  "I  can't  understand  you,  dear 
lady." 

"Horace  is  passing  through  the  severest  trial 
of  his  life,"  she  resumed.  "  If  I  were  to  die  and  be 
at  rest — however  sweet  and  grateful,  oh,  Heaven, 
that  would  be,  so  long  have  I  carried  this  burden 
— if  I  were  to  die,  the  boy  would  break  away  from 


129 


all  good.  It  is  for  me  that  he  stays  here  on  the 
farm,  for  my  sake  that  he  has  turned  his  back  on 
the  evil  ways  that  he  learned  in  the  great  cities." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  interposed ;  "  but  my  mother,  how 
does  your  life  depend  on  your  keeping  from  me 
what  you  know  of  her  ?" 

"Because" — I  couldn't  bear  what  would  come 
to  my  own  if  justice  were  just  now  done  to  the 
guilty.  I  couldn't  bear  it  and  live !  But  it  shall 
come;  justice  a  little  later.  Wait  until  I  am  a 
little  nearer  to  my  natural  limit  of  life !  For 
Horace's  sake  will  you  not  wait  and  let  me  live?" 

"A  thousand  years,  if  need  be,"  answered  I. 
"  Let  anything  happen  to  me,  it  is  all  the  same, 
if  nothing  evil  happens  to  you.  I  loved  you  all 
before  ;  but  now,  for  what  you  have  told  me  of 
your  deed  to  her  who  sleeps  yonder,  I  would  give 
my  life  for  you  and  yours !" 

Just  then  the  long  winding  call  of  the  dinner- 
horn,  blown  by  the  hired  girl  from  yonder  farm- 
house stoop,  echoed  in  the  sultry  air.  It  was  a 
most  unpoetic  and  abrupt  breaking-in  on  a  scene 
the  most  intense  in  all  my  life  thus  far.  I  can 
feel  it  yet — the  cooling  splash  of  that  water  on 
my  burning  cheeks. 

I  did  not  trust  myself  to  go  till  evening.  I  re- 
member that  after  dinner  I  got  Mrs.  Parkridge 
to  describe  particularly  to  me  the  location  of  my 
mother's  mound  on  the  hill  there.  Then  I  went 
back  to  my  work  in  the  furrow.  But  when  we 
had  done  milking,  just  about  sunset,  I  started  off 


130 


in  a  straight  walk  back  of  the  barns,  and  went  to 
stand  by  that  grave. 

I  have  heard  that  all  men  honor  such  a  spot, 
but  it  is  not  so.  Here  all  about  me  were  neglect- 
ed mounds.  Had  these  sleepers  no  children?  Oh, 
how  it  gnawed  my  heart  out  to  see  the  mound 
sunken,  overgrown  with  wild  grasses,  and  all  un- 
marked !  I  stooped  down  and  reaped  away  the 
grasses  with  my  fingers,  I  smoothed  and  caressed 
the  turf  till  it  was  clean-shaven  as  a  rich  man's 
lawn,  and  I  watered  the  stubble  with  my  tears. 
I  brought  fresh  earth  in  my  hands,  holding  the 
cold  soil  against  my  breast  as  I  did  it.  I  fash- 
ioned the  grave  with  these  hands  over  my  mother. 
I  would  have  done  all  this,  if  I  had  had  to  carry 
the  earth  a  thousand  miles.  I  had  little  money, 
but  I  vowed  a  headstone  for  the  next  sweet  Sun- 
day. It  should  be  there  by  Sunday,  when  next 
the  people  came  to  walk  there.  I  would  sell 
clothing  if  Fordham,  the  stone-cutter,  would  not 
trust  me.  I  would  give  my  wages  that  I  must 
have  earned.  I  had  such  a  crushing  sense  of 
shame  upon  me,  to  think  of  it — my  mother  in  an 
unmarked  grave ! 

When  it  was  all  done  as  best  I  could  do,  then  I 
stood  with  folded  arms  over  it,  the  sunset  warm- 
ing me  till  it  slipped  from  the  mound  and  from 
trie.  She  was  beautiful,  they  told  me.  I  had  no 
faintest  memory  of  her  face.  She  held  me  in 
her  fainting  arms,  alone  and  desolate  herself,  and 
sheltered  me  from  the  blazing  harvest  sun  as  we 


131 


crouched  at  the  very  gates  of  my  future  home. 
My  big  bony  frame  shook  with  the  emotions  that 
took  hold  on  me.  All  the  childlike  in  me,  which 
it  is  taught  must  return  again  to  every  man  who 
enters  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  got  mastery 
over  the  man.  I  flung  myself  down  and  cried  like 
a  child.  I  prayed  as  I  wept  —  prayed  for  my 
rights  on  earth,  for  a  home,  and  for  Mary.  When 
at  length  I  rose  up,  I  went  and  told  Horace  Park- 
ridge  that  tears  had  furnished  what  laughter  only 
begun.  I  was  once  more  a  man  among  men. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  next  morning,  as  we  rose  from  the  break- 
fast-table, Mary  said  to  me,  "  Elisha,  walk  along 
towards  the  school-house  with  me." 

"  You  are  the  teacher  this  term,  then,  I  take  it," 
I  answered. 

"  Yes  ;  that  seemed  to  be  necessary,  and  I  am 
very  thankful  that  I  can  earn  the  money.  Come  ; 
I  want  to  talk  with  you  on  the  way." 

"  Certainly  ;  I  am  to  be  planting  corn  there  in 
the  field  this  side  of  the  school-house,"  I  answered. 
Shouldering  my  hoe,  we  started  off  together.  We 
went  out  into  the  highway  on  the  north,  and  be- 
fore much  more  was  said  were  fairly  opposite  the 
entrance  to  my  property.  I  still  thought  of  it  as 
my  property,  for  by  rights  it  was  mine. 

"The  noble  old  house  is  always  majestic  in  the 
morning  light,"  I  remarked,  somewhat  sadly.  Al- 
ways now  I  seemed  to  see  my  mother  crouching 
there  in  her  beauty  and  sorrow. 

"Always  beautiful,"  echoed  Mary,  cheerily. 
"  Everything  is  beautiful  on  such  a  morning  as 
this  to  an  innocent  and  honest  heart,  Elisha." 
Then,  after  a  brief  silence,  she  asked,  with  much 
more  meaning  than  her  words  expressed,  "The 


133 


world  appears  bright  to  you,  does  it  not,  this  glo- 
rious morning  ?" 

Instead  of  answering,  I  said,  "  Do  you  fear  for 
me,  then  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  don't  fear  for  you,  I  trust  for  you." 
Yet  I  should  have  read  her  fear,  despite  her  as- 
surance. 

"  I  am  well  once  more,"  I  insisted,  "  be  sure  of 
it.  I  didn't  sleep  last  night.  I  came  out  here 
and  walked  all  about  old  Bosworth  Place,  and 
took  my  resolve  anew.  You  don't  expect  me  to 
submit  while  there  is  a  breath  of  life  in  me  to 
this  miserable  wrong,  this  robbery  ?" 

"No;  I  am  sure  that  would  not  be  manly; 
but—" 

"  Hear  me,  Mary  "  —  I  spoke  with  gathering 
earnestness — "  many  things  unspeakably  sad  have 
transpired  since  we  sang  that  hymn  together  in 
the  town-hall  at  the  singing-school.  I  am  now  a 
defrauded  and  penniless  man,  but  I  am  more  cer- 
tain than  ever  that  you  love  me." 

"  Elisha  !"  —  but  the  rich  blood  was  flushing 
her  neck  and  cheeks. 

"  Yes  ;  and  we  might  marry — " 

"  If  " — and  she  was  silent. 

"  If  what,  you  precious  girl  ?" 

"  Provided  I  do  confess  that  I  do  love  you  more 
than  any  mortal,  may  I  tell  you  what  I  mean  by — 
if?" 

I  stopped  her  in  the  path.  She  did  not  now 
throw  my  arm'away — a  caress  that  I  had  not  giv- 


134 


en  her  since  we  were  romping  children  together 
on  the  farm. 

"  Yes  ;  say  anything  you  wish,  my  girl." 

"If,  then,  Elisha  Stone,  you  were  sure  of  your- 
self. It  has  been  a  terrible  malady." 

How  hard  it  was  to  hear  that  no  one  can  know 
but  he  who  has  once  passed  under  the  shadow  of 
a  mental  malady.  It  is  fearful !  It  is  a  ghost 
that  haunts  you  from  morning  to  evening  with 
the  awful  menace  of  some  sudden  return.  Your 
friends  do  not  return  to  confidence.  You  read 
their  apprehension  in  their  eager  questions,  in 
their  searching  glances,  in  their  sudden  starts 
and  turnings  towards  you.  You  reach  the  very 
depths  when  you  detect  that  your  dearest  kin 
are  afraid  to  be  left  alone  with  you.  No ;  there 
is  a  deeper  depth  still :  it  is  your  own  con- 
scious struggle  to  appear  calm  that  you  may  vin- 
dicate yourself,  to  do  no  unnatural  thing,  to 
give  no  free  rein  to  such  indignation  as  great 
provocations  like  mine  would  naturally  excite 
in  other  men,  lest  you  should  be  judged  mad 
again. 

"  Did  I  not  show  my  self-control,  Mary,  when 
I  last  night  walked  all  about  the  old  house  by 
such  light  as  a  quarter-moon  bestowed,  patted 
my  old  dog  on  the  head — he  knew  me  and  licked 
my  hands — gazed  into  my  own  windows,  behind 
which  I  had  dreamed  you  would  sit,  and  saw  the 
piled  furniture  of  another,  new  house-keeping,  and 
yet  did  not  rage  over  that  sight  of  the  boxes  and 


bales  of  Cynthia  Littlewood's  new  elegance  on 
the  front  stoop  ?" 

"Perhaps  even  yet  they  will  never  be  married," 
mused  Mary. 

"  I  think  it  is  tolerably  certain  now,"  I  laughed 
in  a  hard  way.  "  Felton  is  opening  the  new  village 
store  that  he  has  set  up  on  her  money,  is  he  not?" 

"You  surprise  me,  Elisha.  Who  told  you  all 
this  news  ?" 

"  Peleg,  the  faithful  old  soul." 

"  Then  you  found  him  on  the  old  place  last 
night  ?" 

"  Certainly,  and  devoted  as  ever.  He  was  at 
first  shy  of  me,  but  when  he  saw  that  I  was  my- 
self again  he  almost  bowed  down  to  me.  He  says 
the  wedding  is  to  be  in  two  weeks.  Felton 
divides  his  time  between  the  new  store  and  his 
new  home.  There  he  is  now,  crossing  the  east 
wheatfield  among  the  stubble." 

She  searched  me  with  her  glances  as  I  was  gaz- 
ing at  the  approaching  man.  Then  she  added  this 
test: 

"Yes,  I  see  that  is  Felton.  And  what  if  I  told 
you  that  he  has  frequently  been  at  the  school- 
house  of  late  ?" 

I  could  not  endure  it.  I  felt  that  I  should 
grapple  the  man  if  we  met,  but  I  also  knew  that 
the  girl  was  putting  me  to  the  proof.  I  turned 
to  the  wall,  put  my  hand  on  the  rail  above  the 
stone,  and  vaulted  into  the  cornfield  without  a 
word  to  go  to*  work. 


136 


"  Elisha  Stone  ?" 

"  I  do  not  distrust  you,  Mary,  but  really  here 
is  where  the  rows  begin,  and  I  may  as  well  con- 
fess that  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  meet  that  man 
here.  Elsewhere ;  let  it  be  elsewhere.  I  am  ar- 
ranging my  plans — I  am  not  afraid  to  meet  him, 
but  not  here.  Something  might  happen.  It  is 
nearly  nine  o'clock,  Mary." 

I  fell  furiously  at  work  at  the  planting,  when 
Felton  sprang  on  the  bars  at  the  other  side  of  the 
highway  shouting  out  : 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Mary;  I  have  come  to 
say  good-byes." 

"  Why,  sir  ?"  she  responded,  turning  upon  him 
in  a  half-frightened  way. 

"  I  am  going  to  war.  "When  I  return  I  will  be 
Governor."  At  the  same  time  he  threw  off  a 
light  outer  garment,  and  there  he  stood,  an  appari- 
tion, a  soldier  in  full  uniform,  sword  at  side.  Only 
a  painter  could  do  justice  to  that  moment:  to  the 
handsome  lady,  on  whose  astonished  features  dis- 
like thawed  away  in  dawning  admiration;  to  the 
fluttering  groups  of  school-children,  stopped  all 
agog  and  hardly  daring  to  chirp  their  unbounded 
amazement ;  and  to  my  homely  self,  leaning  on 
my  hoe,  and  wondering  if  I  were  in  possession  of 
my  senses. 

"  Yes,  sweet  lady  " —  advancing,  while  the  sword, 
a  real  sword,  shining  brightly,  clanked  as  he 
walked — "the  great  war  for  the  Union  is  on 
you  know.  We  fight  for  glory  and  the  nation's 


137 


life.  You  have  read  all  the  news,  of  course,  these 
days?" 

He  utterly  ignored  me,  as  time  and  the  great 
world's  mighty  history  had  surely  also  done  of 
late.  Those  mighty  events  of  the  winter  of  '61 
had  hardly  a  faint  belonging  to  my  life. 

"  But — but — your  wedding,  sir." 

That  Mary  would  condescend  to  speak  to  him 
at  all  showed  me  how  much  this  vast  war  theme 
must  have  occupied  everybody's  attention.  I  also 
recalled  the  Holyokes'  intense  patriotism.  That 
this  fellow  would  actually  offer  himself  to  fight 
for  his  country  had  instantly  redeemed  him  to  a 
certain  degree,  so  that  this  pure- hearted  girl 
would  address  him  words  of  courteous  reply. 

"My  wedding?  Well,  it  must  wait.  Miss 
Cynthia  and  I  have  almost  had  a  quarrel,"  pull- 
ing out  his  sword  an  inch  or  two,  and  thrusting  it 
back  with  a  tiny  clang. 

"  Indeed,"  quite  coolly  Mary  replied.  Then  she 
offered  to  go  on  with  her  children,  who  flew 
towards  her. 

"Yes,"  he  interposed;  "Heaven  only  knows, 
Miss  Holyoke,  what  will  transpire  while  I  am 
away  on  the  field  of  proud  adventure,"  and  he 
stepped  before  her  like  a  cavalier.  "I  go  at 
once.  I  have  put  some  money  into  the  regiment, 
and  shall  go  as  colonel.  Of  course,  being  an  edu- 
cated man,  I  could  not  think  of  serving  in  the 
ranks.  The  position  itself  might  be  considered 
highly  gratifying  to  any  gentleman.  At  my  store 


138 


a  company  is  forming  to-night,  which  will  be  a 
part  of  my  regiment.  I  have  put  some  money 
into  that  also." 

"  Money,  Mr.  Felton  ?"  objected  Mary,  with  a 
disdainful  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  refer  to,"  he  fenced. 
"To  be  sure,  the  Littlewoods  have  profited  by 
my  legal  acumen,  and  have  paid  me  large  fees. 
I  regard  it  in  the  light  of  fees." 

"  Sir,  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  these  matters 
with  you,"  answered  Mary.  "  Quite  likely  we 
shall  not  meet  again  ;  but  wre  simple  country- 
folks, may  I  be  allowed  to  say,  consider  that  you 
owe  your  store — and  now,  you  confess,  your  ability 
to  get  official  position  —  to  Cynthia  Littlewood's 
money  ;  and  ill-gotten  gains  of  hers  they  are,  too." 

"  Sweet  lady,  hear  me,"  resumed  he,  removing 
the  jaunty  military  cap  by  the  visor  and  dropping 
it  upon  the  shoulder,  where  an  eagle  gleamed 
upon  the  strap,  "shall  I  reward  Cynthia  by  mar- 
rying without  loving  her  ?" 

Mary's  brown  eyes  simply  stared  at  him. 

"And  shall  I  not  be  permitted,  even  for  the 
last  time,  probably,  to  protest  to  you  that  I  would 
put  my  honors  —  and  they  may  be  many  before 
my  hairs  are  gray — all  my  success  at  your  feet? 
Think  of  it! — if  I  live,  if  I  return  to  this  village, 
if  I  enter  the  political  arena,  laying  aside  the 
sword,  what  might  I  not  hope  for  amid  these 
rustics  ?  Let  me  at  least  dream,  upon  the  strick- 
en field,  of  you  with  some  slight  hope." 


139 


To  write  it  down  as  I  do  now  makes  such  boast- 
ing seem  incredible,  yet  it  was  not  by  any 
means  disgusting  to  hear  him  say  it  in  his  fine 
way. 

"  Elisha  !"  The  words  Avere  those  of  alarm.  I 
bounded  across  that  fence  like  a  deer.  The  fel- 
low, seeing  me  advance,  actually  drew  his  weapon 
with  a  fencer's  skill.  I  raised  my  hoe,  and  in  a 
moment  more  I  think  I  could  have  brained  him, 
when  he  suddenly  bethought  himself,  and  hissed, 
speaking  to  himself : 

"  Fie  ! — to  fight  with  an  imbecile !"  and  he  low- 
ered his  sword. 

The  wrath  of  weeks  swelled  within  me.  My 
arm  throbbed  with  pain  as  I  poised  the  hoe  in 
air.  But  that  word  "  imbecile,"  and  Mary's  cry, 
"Heaven  help  us  !"  was  enough.  I  was  to  prove 
to  the  girl  that  I  was  a  strong  man,  as  strong  as 
the  strongest^that  I  was  no  dangerous  monoma- 
niac. And  how  I  thanked  God,  after  an  instant 
of  second  thought,  for  this  opportunity  of  show- 
ing my  self-control.  I  lowered  the  hoe  into  the 
dust,  and  said,  calmly : 

"  Arthur  Alfred  Felton,  allow  this  lady  to  pass 
on!" 

"  Good-bye,  Miss  Holyoke,"  he  said,  in  a  court- 
ly way  at  once,  ignoring  me  again,  though  I  saw 
that  he  could  not  believe  his  senses  when  I  did 
not  rave  like  a  madman.  "  I  wanted  to  have  said 
more,"  he  added.  "  I  can — I  have  the  desire,  in- 
deed— to  reinstate  your  father  in  his  old  home — " 


140 


"  Come,  Elisha,"  Mary  said,  shuddering  as  she 
drew  near  to  me. 

"And  I  beg  of  you,"  Felton  flung  after  us, 
"not  to  take  too  seriously  what  I  said  about  my 
quarrel  with  the  Littlewood  lass.  If  you  tell  her 
what  I  have  confessed  to  you  she  will  not  believe 
you." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mary  ?"  I  asked,  as  the  mil- 
itary form  disappeared  over  the  rail -fence  and 
behind  the  blackberry-bushes. 

"  I  fear  he  is  right.  There  seems  to  be  a  fatal- 
ity in  his  power  over  her.  But  this  is  the  forks 
of  the  road  with  her — that  is,  when  we  inform  her 
of  what  he  has  this  day  said ;"  and  she  lapsed 
into  deep  thought.  His  parting  words  seemed  to 
linger  on  the  summer  air — "If  you  tell  her  what 
I  have  confessed  to  you  she  will  not  believe  you." 
Perhaps  the  man  was  right.  At  any  rate,  he  had 
safely  hedged,  and  so  parted  from  us. 

Mar}7,  walking  on  to  the  school,  gathered  her 
children  to  order,  and  when  they  had  been  fairly 
started  upon  their  tasks  she  sat  down  with  me 
on  the  broad  stone  door-step  of  the  porch.  She 
could  there  keep  an  eye  upon  her  little  brood,  and 
also  give  me  attention.  She  narrated  to  me  with 
glowing  eloquence  all  the  stirring  events  in  our 
national  life  which  had  occurred  in  the  last  few 
weeks.  It  was  a  lucid,  sympathetic,  and  graphic 
history.  When  she  had  concluded  she  added  : 

"And  now,  my  brave  knight,  I  congratulate 
you  on  the  possession  of  yourself  again,  for  none 


141 


but  a  sound  heart  and  steady  head  could  have 
kept  itself  as  you  did  a  few  moments  ago  under 
such  terrific  provocation." 

"  Then,"  I  answered,  rising  to  my  feet  with  ex- 
pectancy, "will  you  trust  yourself  to  marry  me 
now,  or  shall  I  also  enlist  first  and  help  my  coun- 
trymen mow  this  heavy  swath?" 

"  They  will  not  take  you  for  your  country's 
service  yet,"  she  answered.  "Mr.  Littlewood  has 
slandered  you  all  through  the  town,  and  means 
even  worse  things  for  you  possibly.  You  must 
stay  and  outwit  him.  You  must  prove  yourself 
to  be  yourself  once  more.  Horace  will  go,  for  he 
is  a  broken-hearted  man." 

"  And  I  promised,  did  I  not,  to  do  anything  in 
the  world  for  the  little  mother  who  served  my 
mother  at  the  last  ?  You  are  right :  some  one 
must  care  for  her,  and  the  elder  is  not  strong.  It 
may  be  that  if  Horace  goes  it  will  kill  his  mother. 
Have  you  really  heard  Hod  say  whether  he  was 
going  or  not  ?" 

I  dreaded  to  hear  her  reply.  Under  the  glow- 
ing history  of  public  events  from  this  fair  narra- 
tor's lips  I  had  become  excited  to  the  highest 
pitch.  To  go  —  to  escape  these  small  flies  of 
miseries  that  buzzed  about  one  in  the  coun- 
try -  side  —  to  do  the  manly,  heroic  thing,  and 
that,  too,  in  any  possible  position :  as  a  mere 
musket-carrier,  if  necessary — these  were  my  im- 
pulses. 

"Yes;  speaking  of  Horace,"  Mary  answered, "it 


142 


has  been  all  talked  over.  Horace  is  going  to  enlist 
to-night  at  the  Union  store." 

This  was  weighty  news.  It  was  hard  to  rea- 
lize. 

It  came  over  me  like  a  revelation  after  a  mo- 
ment more  of  thought — for  we  interspersed  our 
conversation  with  long  pauses  of  serious  medita- 
tion— the  wisest,  manliest  thing,  the  sudden  open- 
ing of  duty,  which  comes  to  all  men,  I  believe,  at 
times,  like  a  sudden  flash  of  light  on  a  dark  path. 
"  Mary  Holyoke,  if  I  stay  here  our  marriage  must 
wait  also.  I  could  die  for  you,  as  you  know,  but 
I  could  not  ask  you  to  lower  your  high  standard 
of  what  you  think  is  manly  and  womanly.  It 
would  not  do  for  us  to  be  happy  at  home  while 
he  whom  we  love  has  gone  to  suffer,  and  he  whom 
we  have  reason  to  despise  is  masquerading  also  as 
a  hero  in  behalf  of  our  country." 

"Oh,  you  great  brave  loyal  heart,  Heaven  bless 
you  !"she  answered.  "I  do  thank  you  for  saying 
that.  I  am  glad  that  you  should  have  said  it  first, 
and  without  promptings  from  me.  No,  indeed,  we 
could  not  take  each  other  now,  seeking  our  own 
happiness  selfishly,  while  I  am  under  Horace's 
roof  and  my  father  and  mother  are  the  guests  of 
their  benevolence." 

She  arose,  putting  out  her  hands  as  a  clasp  on 
my  folded  arms.  I  saw  the  woman's  devotion  for 
the  man  of  her  choice  in  her  long  and  restful  gaze. 
She  added: 

"Now, then, can  you  take  up  this  plain, inglori- 


143 


ous  task  among  us  sorrowing  women  and  old  peo- 
ple, and  Avait  ?" 

"I  will,  God  helping  me,"  I  answered.  And, 
saying  that,  I  started  back  to  my  work  in  the 
field,  while  Mary  entered  the  school-room.  How 
little  we  knew  in  this  play  of  youthful  enthusi- 
asm and  heroism  what  a  world  of  risk  we  as- 
sumed. We  had  no  adequate  understanding  of 
the  many  things  that  might  happen  between  the 
present  and  the  moment  of  our  glad  union,  the 
wedding-day  which  seemed  then  not  far  away. 


CHAPTER   X 

"  WHOM  will  you  have  for  captain,  men  ?"  Col- 
onel Felton  was  standing  on  a  dais  by  the  end  of 
his  little  private  office  in  the  Union  store.  Cyn- 
thia was  caged  within  the  wire  fencing,  leaning 
an  elbow  on  the  open  ledger  ;  but  her  eyes  were 
on  the  colonel,  not  on  the  page  of  accounts.  She 
wore  a  hat  and  coat,  as  if  she  had  just  come  in  from 
driving.  Her  eyes  showed  traces  of  weeping  and 
her  face  was  flushed.  The  yellow  lamplight  from 
over  her  head,  fighting  with  the  twilight  of  the 
summer  evening,  lent  her  face  deep  lines  that  did 
not  belong  there ;  or  else  she  was  angry,  and  pas- 
sion had  scarred  her  features. 

The  ancient  rambling  room  of  the  country  store 
was  capable  of  accommodating  perhaps  two-score 
men;  but  a  hundred  were  now  trying  to  get  in,  or 
were  already  crammed  within  its  narrow  quarters, 
when  Horace  and  I  came  up. 

"Open  the  doors  and  throw  up  the  windows," 
cried  Felton  ;  "  that  will  give  us  the  piazza, 
also." 

This  building  had  for  years  been  the  very  heart 
of  the  village.  All  its  tide  of  life  beat  in  and  out 
here  with  every  impulse  of  excitement,  of  pleas- 


145 


ure,  of  gossip,  of  buying  and  selling,  of  politics 
and  religion,  sooner  or  later.  Everybody  came 
here  for  business  or  for  loitering. 

"  I  ain't  nothin'  on  swappin'  bosses  to  -  nigbt, 
Isik,"  I  overheard  one  farmer  say  to  another. 

"  'Pears  like  politiks  is  throbbin'  with  a  pooty 
quick  pulse.  Some  on  us  has  got  to  go  an'  fight," 
was  the  comment  of  a  second  man. 

"  D'yer  see  th'  new  sign  ?"  was  wise  old  farmer 
Kipling's  reply  to  them  both.  I  turned  and  saw 
that  it  was  my  next-door  neighbor  on  our  road. 
"  He's  rubbed  out  Maher  Ashe's  letterin',  what's 
ben  thar  fifty  year;  but  ye  k'n  see  'em  in  shadder, 
as  if  the  dead  old  man's  ghost  was  peepin'  through 
to  see  what  his  successor's  doin' — ARTHUR  AL- 
FRED FELTON,  showin'  bright  in  new  gold,  but  th' 
old  letters  dodgin'  raound.  They  say  that  old 
Ashe's  heirs  will  get  fifty  thousan'  dollars  when 
th'  old  man's  'state  's  settled." 

"New  paint  an'  fixin's  's  all  well  'nuff,  neigh- 
bor, but  this  young  daown-country  feller  can't  be 
no  sech  reg'lar  father  'n  Isr'el  's  Maher  was.  No 
doubt  Maher's  gone  to  a  better  place,  though." 
And  my  neighbor  seated  himself  on  the  counter 
while  he  lighted  his  pipe. 

"Where's  he  hid  his  codfish ?"  asked  Job  Stout, 
whose  open  jack-knife  blade  was  ready  in  his  hand 
for  the  accustomed  pickings. 

"  Guess  it's  gone  after  the  sugar  bari'el.  Vurn 
ter  Moses,  but  that  ain't  no  way  ter  get  tra.de," 
growled  Peleg  "Rumney. 


146 


"  An'  th'  plug  terbaccer's  skipped  in  back,  too," 
was  the  further  comment  of  Kipling,  whose  emp- 
ty pipe  was  twirling  in  his  fingers.  "  Mighty 
stric'ly  bizness,  ain't  he,  on  Littlewood's  money  ?" 

"  'Tain't  Littlewood's  money ;  it's  Cynthy's." 

"  Wa'al;  but  it's  the  deacon's  idees  of  savin',  jist 
the  same." 

"  He'll  save  th'  money,  won't  he,"  sneered  an- 
other, "  powerful  smart  sight !  Then  that  's  th' 
cunnel's  uniform,  is  it  ?"  glancing  up  at  Felton, 
who  stood  fully  revealed  on  the  dais.  "  Don't 
that  beat  Gunnel  Robbins's  old-fashioned  honest 
Vermont  uniforms  all  ter  thunder  ?  Cost  a  dozen 
of  Cynthy's  sheep,  I  bet  yer." 

"But  he's  cuttin'  a  swath," growled  Jack  Stout. 

It  was  evident  that  Felton  had  lost  standing  in 
the  estimation  of  my  neighbors,  and  also  equally 
evident  that  Deacon  Littlewood  was  decidedly 
unpopular  with  our  honest  farmers,  who  had  kept 
fully  informed  of  his  recent  sharp  practices  for 
the  gaining  of  extra  acres.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  was  a  searching  look  of  pity  and  question- 
ing in  every  man's  face  that  met  me,  which  seemed 
to  be  in  kindly  contrast.  Horace  and  I  kept  to- 
gether and  wedged  our  way  in  and  in,  closer  to 
the  counter,  where,  at  Cynthia's  right,  young 
Charlie  Lane,  a  school-boy,  with  a  clear  ringing 
voice,  was  reading  to  the  assembled  crowd  the 
New  York  Tribune  and  the  Boston  Journal. 
There  was  some  horse-play  and  jesting,  and  an 
occasional  hurrah  over  a  passage  or  two  in  the 


147 


speech  of  our  Congressman  ;  but,  for  the  most 
part,  a  deep  seriousness  held  the  compact  mass  of 
countrymen  in  silence. 

"  Whom  will  you  name,  gentlemen  ?"  shouted 
Felton  again,  as  the  reader  paused  to  turn  his 
paper.  "  We  have  eighty-three  names  of  North- 
brook  boys  on  the  roll,"  holding  it  up,  "  all  these 
— a  nomenclature  of  great  names."  He  sounded 
forth  that  swelling  word  with  proud  impressive- 
ness. 

"  What  'n  tarnation  's  that  ?"  grunted  Tom  Cal- 
kins. 

Unmindful  of  the  saucy  interruption,  Felton 
went  on,  "  Calkins',  I  think  you  would  make  a 
good  captain." 

"  Hod  Parkridge's  a  handsomer  boy  to  be 
dressed  up  in  regimentals.  Besides,  he's  been  in 
a  blue  coat  before." 

"  Yes  ;  Parkridge  !  Parkridge  ! "  resounded 
through  the  room. 

"But,  gentlemen — " 

"  Parkridge  —  the  sailor  —  Parkridge  —  Hod 
Parkridge  !"  a  perfect  storm  of  it. 

"  I  say,  gentlemen,"  angrily  interposed  Felton 
again,  "  I  am  to  be  the  colonel  of  this  regiment. 
Northbrook  only  furnishes  one  company." 

"  What  of  that  ?    You  don't  own  us." 

The  colonel's  face  grew  paler.  "  But  there  are 
reasons  why  it  might  not  be  altogether  agreeable 
to  me,  as  the  superior  officer,  to  have  Mr.  Park- 
ridge— " 


148 


"  Yes,  I  should  say  so,"  came  derisively  from  a 
man  sitting  astride  a  crockery  crate  in  the  corner; 
at  which  many  laughed,  and  the  colonel  grew  a 
trifle  paler  still. 

"Hod,  take  it,"  I  urged,  in  under-tone,  as  I  saw 
him  making  ready  to  protest.  "  Don't  you  see 
that  it  is  only  his  money  at  the  capital  that  has 
bought  him  the  place,  and  he  will  resign  in  no 
time?  You  will  be  in  the  line  of  promotion. 
You,  old  boy,  will  come  back  a  colonel  of  the  — 
Vermont." 

Cynthia  overheard  me,  for  in  the  movement 
and  wedging  of  the  crowd  we  had  now  been 
pressed  up  very  near  to  the  bookkeeper's  cage. 
She  flashed  her  black  eyes  on  him.  As  yet  she  had 
not  given  him  any  sign  of  recognition,  but  already 
I  could  see  her  comparing  him  with  her  colonel. 

"  Read  all  the  names  and  let  us  vote,"  came 
from  a  man  who  had  mounted  the  box-stove  and 
was  swinging  his  straw  hat  in  the  air  till  it  touched 
the  low  ceiling.  The  cry  was  taken  up  and  be- 
came a  shout.  Felton  heard  it  become  a  roar,  and 
still  refused  to  yield,  and  began  making  up  the 
enlistment  roll  into  a  cylinder  in  his  hand.  The 
roar  became  a  perfect  babel. 

"  Here,  let  us  vote.  Parkridge,  Parkridge  for 
captain  from  Northbrook !"  Everybody  was  say- 
ing it. 

With  an  angry  toss  Felton  flung  the  roll  down 
on  the  desk  before  Cynthia.  We  overheard  him 
spit  it  out : 


149 


"  Curses  on  these  bucolics !  They  mean  to 
shove  this  fellow  into  my  regiment  as  captain. 
Cynthia,  there  is  no  help  for  it.  You  will  have  to 
read,  and  let  them  vote." 

Cynthia  was  almost  at  the  point  of  weeping 
with  the  excitement.  How  surpassingly  beautiful 
she  was,  as  I  remember  her  then!  The  girl  was 
wretchedly  unhappy.  I  was  sure  of  it.  Did  she 
not  say  it  in  the  woods,  that  she  only  wanted  to 
be  happy  ?  Turning  towards  Horace,  with  an  im- 
pulsive quiver,  there  was  the  faintest  flavor  of 
old-time  recognition  in  her  tones  as  she  asked : 

"  Have  you  ever  enlisted,  Horace  ?"  That  was 
just  enough,  the  mere  trace  of  any  interest  in  him 
lingering  in  her  tone,  and  he  yielded  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  Yes  ;  this  forenoon,"  he  answered,  warmly. 
That  was  all,  and  commonplace  enough,  you  would 
say.  But  the  sound  of  his  voice,  which  she  had 
not  so  much  as  heard  for  weeks,  must  have  struck 
some  old  chord  in  the  girl's  heart.  Perhaps  her 
quarrel  with  Felton  had  prepared  the  way.  And 
perhaps,  too,  nature  made  these  twain  for  each 
other. 

"  And  as  a  private,  too  ?"  She  beamed  it  on 
the  paper,  and  said  it  to  the  page,  not  to  him,  and 
yet  she  knew,  of  course,  that  he  would  hear. 
"Ybit  have  not  bought  your  honors,  but  you  shall 
have  them  just  the  same." 

I  am  sure  of  this  much,  that  she  meant  to  use 
this  nobility  of  his  as  a  whip  over  her  high-stepper, 


150 


for  she  spoke  the  last  part  of  her  sentence  loud 
enough  for  Felton  also  to  hear  it.  He  did  hear  it, 
and  answered  her  with  a  sarcastic  smile  of  one 
who  felt  secure  in  his  mastery.  She  was  piqued 
by  his  expression,  and  began  reading  the  names" 
promptly  in  a  silvery  ringing  tone.  From  A  to 
Y,  voice  after  voice,  hoarse  voices,  clear  voices, 
boyish  voices,  manly  voices,  answering,  "Park- 
ridge  "— «  Hod  "— "  Hod  Parkridge  "— "  the  sail- 
or"— "the  preacher's  boy."  At  least  seventy- 
nine  names  present  and  voting,  as  I  kept  the  tally 
on  a  piece  of  wrapping-paper,  which  lies  before  me 
now  as  I  write  about  it,  all  for  Horace. 

"I  will  not  announce  it,"  growled  Felton  in 
low  tones  to  Cynthia. 

"  I  will,"  I  answered,  reaching  my  hand  for  the 
tally. 

"  Why,  'Lish  Stone,"  exclaimed  Cynthia,  for  the 
first  time  noticing  me,  "  are  you  here  ?  Are  you 
well?  Ought  you  to  be  here?"  But  she  gave 
me  the  paper  on  which  she  had  the  tally  never- 
theless. I  called  for  silence,  and  as  it  was  coming 
slowly  over  the  uproarious  crowd  Cynthia  re- 
marked, in  plainly  audible  words,  leaning  towards 
the  wicket  till  her  red  lips  almost  touched  Hor- 
ace's ear : 

"  I  am  glad,  brave  man — I  am  glad  for  you.  I 
have  not  forgotten  how  handsome  you  used  to 
look  in  your  sailor's  uniform." 

"  In  the  happier  days,  Cynthia,"  the  boy  turned 
to  say,  scarce  allowing  her  to  finish  her  sentence 


151 


— "  before  he  came  between  us.  Are  you  going  to 
marry  him  ?  Tell  me,  for  I  shall  not  likely  see 
you  again,  if  that  is  the  case.  Is  it  not  God's 
providence,  which  father  tells  us  so  much  about, 
that  is  just  now  in  season  separating  you  from 
him  ?" 

"  Don't  ask  me  now,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  com- 
ing over  to  your  house  to-morrow  to  say  good- 
bye." 

Felton,  whose  attention  had  been  momentai'ily 
attracted  to  another  part  of  the  room,  managed 
to  catch  the  mere  ends  of  this  conversation,  a-nd 
he  glowered  on  her,  though  he  could  not  quite 
terrorize  her  into  silence.  This  seemed  to  anger 
him  as  she  went  on  whispering. 

"  The  result  is,"  I  cried  to  the  crowd,  "  that 
Horace  Parkridge  is  elected  captain  of  Company 
C  of  —  Regiment  of  Vermont  Volunteers." 

Then  the  cheers,  the  hats  in  air,  hurrah  on  hur- 
rah, and  anything  and  everything  that  could  be 
thrown  up  to  the  low  ceiling  flung  against  it  to 
the  storm  of  cheers  ;  while  out  on  the  stoop  any- 
thing and  everything  that  could  be  thrown  up 
was  tossed  with  deafening  huzzas  towards  the 
darkening  summer  sky.  These  men  of  the  fields 
are  phlegmatic  until  a  great  excitement  seizes  on 
them,  then  they  are  wilder,  more  irresistible,  than 
any  other  people,  as  runaway  oxen  are  far  more 
destructive  when  they  get  started  than  runaway 
horses. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  him  ?"  demanded  Fel- 


152 


ton,  as  he  slipped  over  through  the  gateway  to 
Cynthia's  side. 

She  drew  back.     "  What  I  please,  sir." 

"  How  is  that,  my  lady,  since  you  are  wearing 
my  ring  ?" 

"  Here !"  she  flung  back  at  him,  snatching  the 
ring  from  her  finger.  But  then,  she  paused. 
"  Why  should  I  ?  My  money  bought  it." 

I  overheard  this ;  but  of  course  the  crowd  did 
not,  for  cheer  on  cheer  was  still  being  flung 
against  the  ceiling,  and  cheer  on  cheer  broke  out 
beyond  the  doors,  mingled  with  a  cry  : 

"  There's  his  father  and  mother — the  dear  old 
parson  and  Mother  Parkridge — driving  up  !" 

The  uproar  prevented  my  hearing  the  further 
conversation  of  Felton  and  Cynthia  after  her  home 
thrust.  The  crowd  prevented  Horace  and  me 
moving  had  we  wished.  The  boy,  seeing  a  gleam 
of  hope  in  Cynthia's  sudden  attempt  at  rebellion 
from  the  long  fatal  spell  which  the  singer  had 
thrown  over  her,  whispered  to  me, 

"  'Lish,  lay  hold  !"  And  he  knit  his  fingers 
into  the  wire  fencing.  He  was  like  a  tiger.  A 
moment  more  and  he  would  have  torn  a  way  to 
the  girl's  side  and  her  defending.  But  just  at 
that  moment  the  crowd,  with  the  fickle  move- 
ments of  a  throng,  took  him  up  bodily  on  their 
shoulders  with  a  yell  of  adulation,  and  began 
passing  him  out  over  their  heads  that  he  might 
greet  his  parents  and  receive  their  blessings.  It 
was  out  there  in  front  of  the  store,  in  the  dim 


153 


twilight  of  that  May  evening,  that  over  the  head 
of  his  son,  who  stood  at  the  carriage-wheel,  the 
elder  made  that  great  war  speech.  Everybody 
in  Northbrook  has  heard  of  it.  Its  traditions 
live  still  in  all  the  country-side. 

Felton  took  advantage  of  the  diverted  attention 
of  the  people  to  manage  this  troublesome  situa- 
tion with  Cynthia. 

"  I  ask  your  forgiveness."  It  came  as  quick  as 
shadows  flit. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  will  give  it  to  you  or 
not,"  she  answered. 

"  But  all  the  crowd  are  turned  away  from  us," 
he  went  on.  "  Don't  disgrace  me  by  manifesting 
our  quarrel  so  unmistakably  to  these  people  who 
know  us." 

"  You  are  not  sincere,"  she  responded.  "  I  have 
been  half  persuaded  for  some  weeks  that  I  ought 
to  tell  you  so,  even  if  we  parted." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  break  the  engagement — to 
ruin  one  whom  you  hold  in  your  power  ?"  he 
pleaded.  Then  he  seemed  to  me  to  bethink  him- 
self of  another  weapon,  for  he  exclaimed,  some- 
what sternly,  "I  am  his  colonel."  Now  his  feat- 
ures manifested  unmistakably  his  malevolence  as 
he  went  on  :  "  Do  I  not  know  that  you  have  small 
love  for  me  of  late?  Were  it  not  for  the  deacon, 
your  father,  you  would  have  broken  this  engage- 
ment when  I  resolved  to  put  my  own  personal 
happiness  second  to  the  great  call  of  my  suffering 
country's  need,  adjourning  the  wedding." 


154 


"  Indeed  ! — the  call  of  your  suffering  country, 
colonel  and  future  Governor!"  She  laughed  scorn- 
fully. 

"  Then  we  part  so  ?"  And  now  his  anger  was 
wholly  unmasked.  "I  am  his  colonel,"  with  a 
nod  of  his  head  towards  Horace  out-of-doors. 
"  Yes ;  I  will  confess  that  your  money  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  raise  this  regiment.  He  has  a 
company  in  my  regiment.  I  will  put  him  where 
death  is  falling  thick  enough  to  mow  grass." 

As  he  spoke  to  her  I  had  a  new  illustration  of 
his  spell  over  her  by  the  use  he  made  of  his  voice. 
He  was  an  orator.  He  could  throw  into  the  eye,  the 
features,  and  most  of  all  the  voice,  the  very  soul 
of  meaning.  Under  his  threat  the  girl  quailed, 
starting  back,  crying : 

"  Can  you,  indeed,  do  that  ?  Oh,  I  suppose  you 
can.  We  girls  know  nothing  of  war.  Spare  him, 
spare  him,  and  I  will  replace  the  ring.  I  do  not 
love  him."  And  she  fairly  pleaded  with  the  man 
for  a  return  to  his  amiable  mood. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said, "  you  do  not  love  me,  but 
you  shall  not  ruin  me,"  and  he  smiled  with  a  self- 
satisfied  air  of  one  who  was  sure  of  his  victory. 

"Arthur  Alfred  Felton" — I  spoke  it  hotly;  I 
could  have  shaken  down  the  frail  partition  that 
separated  us  as  I  saw  his  abuse  of  the  girl — "I 
will  pin  you  to  the  wall,  and  staple  your  throat 
with  my  fingers,  if  you  push  the  girl  further  with 
your  terrors !" 

"  You  !"    He  gave  a  startled  stare  ;   I  knew 


155 


what  it  meant.  In  another  instant  he  would 
alarm  the  crowd  outside  by  proclaiming  me  a 
madman.  "  Are  you  at  large  yet  ?  I  had  for- 
gotten that  I  had  seen  you  here,"  he  added. 

Again  my  penalty  was  on  me,  I  turned  from 
him  and  went  out,  and  with  an  iron  composure 
which  surprises  me  now  as  I  recall  it.  Does  any 
one  wonder  how  I  was  able  to  keep  myself? 
Think  of  Mary's  God  and  her  prayers.  I  found 
myself  a  little  later  hurrying  over  to  my  lawyer's 
office,  repeating  the  expressions  of  a  prayer  as  I 
walked  along,  and  as  I  stood  upon  the  door-step 
of  his  office — the  prayers  that  I  had  often  heard 
her  use  for  self-control.  There  is  something  in 
this  calling  upon  God.  Whoever  reads  this,  let 
me  assure  you,  however  your  brain  may  whirl 
with  intense  passion  at  times,  there  is  something 
in  prayer  that  can  hold  a  man.  I  remember,  more- 
ovei',  that  I  thought  of  Ashael  Keep's  bare  cob- 
web-strung office  as  a  good  place  to  cool  off  an 
angry  man's  fever. 

The  little  lawyer  pulled  down  his  feet  from  the 
window-sill  as  I  entered.  He  had  been  watching 

O 

composedly  from  his  office  windows  the  bonfire 
on  the  common  that  the  enthusiastic  villagers  had 
now  set  blazing.  That  accounted  for  the  red  in 
his  usually  pale  face.  War  or  peace,  it  was  all 
the  same  to  the  shrewd  yet  surely  honest  old 
bachelor,  who  seemed  to  neither  love  nor  hate — 
Ashael  Keep.  But  even  he  had  managed  to  get 
some  heat  in  his  blood  over  my  own  personal 


156 


wrong,  for  catching  sight  of  me  he  sprang  up 
and  said: 

"  My  boy,  glad  of  it,"  and  he  extended  his  lit- 
tle hand,  "glad  you  are  all  right  —  knew  you 
would  be  —  ain't  goin'  to  war,  are  you?  Hod's 
goin' — you'll  have  to  stay  an'  aim  bread  for  the 
folks  up  there,  and  give  'era  care.  Too  bad  !  No 
glory  for  you  !  Ha,  ha !  No  case  at  Nashua 
against  the  doctor,  either,  who  gave  you  the  war- 
ranty deed  on  the  Senator's  place.  Bad-luck,  boy. 
He  died  a  month  ago.  No  estate.  Wuthless  son 
in  Chicago  had  spent  all  he  had.  Come  in  and  set 
down.  That  sickness  o'  yours  been  very  unfor- 
tunate. Lots  o'  things  happened  sence  you  were 
sick.  Been  expectin'  you  every  hour  sence  I  heard 
you'd  become  yourself  again." 

"But,"  I  said,  taking  a  chair,  after  all  this  out- 
burst of  the  usually  reticent  man,  "  if  I  have  no 
case  against  the  doctor,  I  certainly  have  against 
Deacon  Littlewood  for  defamation  of  charac- 
ter." 

"  Yes,  sir-ee,  go  in  !  It's  time  that  man  was 
brought  to  book." 

"And  since  there  is  a  just  Ruler  on  high,  I 
must  have  a  case  in  a  righteous  court  with  re- 
gard to  my  property,  if  I  could  only  patch  it  to- 
gether." 

The  man  shook  his  head  and  tilted  back  in  his 
chair. 

"Keep,  see  here,  where  is  Mrs.  Cark?"  I  de- 
manded, leaning  towards  him,  and  going  directly 


157 


to  the  marrow  of  the  errand  that  I  had  really  had 
in  mind  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours. 

"Up  there  taking  care  of  the  Bosworth  place, 
I  suppose,"  he  answered,  gnawing  his  thumbs. 

"  Who  is  she  ?" 

"Who?  You  ought  to  know.  What's  up?" 
And  he  began  to  show  interest  and  hope  in  my 
case  at  once. 

"  I  found  her  there  when  I  went  there,  and  I 
kept  her,  expecting  that  I  would  be  rid  of  her  in 
some  charitable  way  when  Mary  came  to  live  with 
me.  Now,  see  here,  Keep,  that  woman  must  know 
something  about  my  childhood;  and  moreover  Mrs. 
Parkridge,  I  discover,  knew  who  my  mother  was. 
Mrs.  Parkridge  knows  something  about  Cynthia's 
nativity  and  her  childhood  days." 

The  little  lawyer  bit  his  thumbs  in  silence. 

I  waited  a  time,  while  the  bonfire's  glow  flashed 
higher  just  in  front  of  the  liberty  pole,  not  ten 
rods  from  the  window,  watching  the  lawyer's  face. 
It  seemed  a  very  long  time,  and  I  had  shot  out 
pretty  much  all  that  I  had  in  my  pouch.  It  was 
just  to  say  these  few  simple  things  that  I  had  lain 
awake  half  the  night  resolving  upon  this  errand 
to  the  lawyer,  but  it  seemed  to  have  made  com- 
paratively little  impression  upon  him.  He  gnawed 
the  corner  of  his  lip  and  his  thumbs,  but  made  me 
no  reply. 

While  we  were  gazing  out  of  the  window  El- 
der Parkridge  .moved  his  horse  and  buggy  out 
from  the  crowd,  where  he  had  been  speaking. 


158 


Horace  brought  the  dear  little  mother  along  from 
Widow  Hopewell's  millinery  and  dress  -  making 
shop,  which  was  next  house  in  the  corner  of  the 
lot  to  the  south.  The  red  light  flashed  on  the 
group. 

"  My  duty  is,  Mary  says,  to  care  for  them  while 
he  is  gone  to  be  a  hero,"  I  remarked  to  Keep. 

"Your  duty  is  to  follow  out  that!"  and  the 
lawyer  let  his  tilted  chair  drop  with  a  crash  to 
all  fours,  and  quick  as  a  hound  upon  the  scent, 
with  hand  and  head  thrust  forward,  he  pointed 
out  of  the  window  towards  this  group  of  people. 

There,  side  by  side  in  the  fitful  flashes  of  the 
light,  stood  two  women  —  the  woman  whom  all 
the  township  loved,  and  the  woman  whom  not  a 
soul  of  us  in  the  township  ever  knew  much  about 
or  cared  much  about — Mrs.  Parkridge  and  Mrs. 
Cark.  Mrs.  Cark  was  speaking  to  Mrs.  Parkridge. 
I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever  saw  them  standing 
side  by  side  before,  or,  if  I  had,  it  was  not  in  silent 
picturing  like  this.  Two  sisters  may  resemble  each 
other  ever  so  closely  in  feature  and  form,  but  the 
moment  they  speak  the  contrast  of  soul  is  shown. 
Here,  however,  in  silence  the  two  women  stood  up 
for  our  observation. 

"  How  much  alike  they  look  !"  exclaimed  the 
lawyer.  The  keen  perception  and  the  quick  rea- 
soning of  that  attorney  has  not  ceased  to  be  an 
astonishment  to  me  to  this  day. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  I  WISH  it  were  any  other  day  but  Sunday  that 
I  am  to  say  good-bye,"  said  Horace,  mournfully. 
How  quickly  we  did  things  those  times  !  Elected 
captain  on  Thursday  night,  off  to  the  war  on  Sun- 
day. 

"  But  what  a  gorgeous  day  for  our  hero,"  Mary 
Holyoke  broke  the  silence  for  us  all.  "  The  val- 
ley was  never  so  lovely  !  What  a  vision  of  the 
sleeping  mountains  !  That  sheen  on  the  lake,  the 
miles  on  miles  of  farms,  all  bathed  in  the  sacred 
Sabbath  repose !"  We  were  a  family  group  on 
the  elder's  piazza. 

"Thank  you,  dear  heart,"  said  Horace,  bright- 
ening up.  "  You,  at  least,  could  not  keep  silence 
any  longer  without  trying  to  say  a  word  of 
cheer."  And  he  forced  a  laugh. 

"  We  need  not  whip  up  our  smiles,  my  boy,  as 
if  there  was  nothing  to  smile  about,"  remarked 
the  elder.  "  We  have  ever  so  much  to  be  thank- 
ful for.  You  go  on  Heaven's  own  errand — much 
to  be  thankful  for.  We  are  all  in  good  health," 
and  then  his  vision  of  blessings  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  been  foreshortened,  for  he  did  not  recount 
any  added  ones  in  sight. 


160 


"You  remind  me,  father,"  at  length  Hod  re- 
marked, "  of  Peleg  Rumney's  errand  over  here 
this  morning.  He  had  evidently  been  repairing 
the  harness.  He  had  an  old  horse  -  collar  on  his 
arm.  'I  vum,  Mr.  Horace,' said  he,  'that's  a 
good  collar  if  only  Miss  Cynthy  'd  hev  a  harness 
made  to  V  " 

"  Speakin'  of  Cynthia,  there  she  comes  to  bid 
you  good-bye,"  quavered  in  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Holyoke  feebly  from  his  seat  on  the  doorstep. 

"  I  sh'd  think  sh'd  want  to  come  here,"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Holyoke,  with  a  sigh,  as  she  sat  just 
behind  the  veranda  trellis  and  hidden  from  sight. 
At  the  thought  of  Cynthia's  approach  she  drew 
herself  still  further  in  hiding  towards  the  farm- 
house wall. 

"  Let's  all  be  gracious  and  forgiving  on  my 
son's  last  day  at  the  homestead,"  urged  Horace's 
mother,  rising  from  her  chair  and  walking  down 
towards  the  well-curb  to  be  ready  to  receive  her 
guest. 

"  I  felt  sure  she  would  come  here,  Hod,"  I  said, 
rising  from  the  grass,  where  I  had  thrown  myself 
beside  Horace.  We  had  been  snipping  the  dan- 
delions that  starred  the  little  lawn.  When  we 
rose  up,  Mary,  all  in  white,  tripped  down  the 
steps  to  us,  took  three  or  four  dandelions  from 
my  hand,  and  began  to  fasten  them  on  the  blue 
field  of  Horace's  uniform. 

"  I  will  keep  them,  you  good  angel  to  us  all," 
he  said,  submitting.  "  They  shall  outlast  these 


161 


brass  honors  about  which  you  pin  them,  though 
they  are  so  frail." 

"  I  dare  say  that  it  is  the  brass  and  blue  she 
has  come  over  here  to  see  and  compare ;"  ungra- 
ciously Mrs.  Holyoke  flung  this  out  through  the 
vines. 

"Compare  whom  with  whom,  and  what  with 
what  ?"  asked  Horace. 

"  Why,  her  colonel,  of  course,  in  his  uniform 
compared  with  the  captain  in  his  uniform,"  the 
unhappy  lady  sent  him  back  reply. 

"  Her  colonel,  indeed,  Hod,"  I  said,  slapping 
him  on  the  shoulder.  "Remember  what  I  told 
you  of  the  last  end  of  the  fracas  down  in  the 
store." 

The  fellow  flushed,  and  the  memory  brightened 
his  countenance  as  no  effort  on  his  part  to  be 
cheerful  had  yet  done.  We  walked  down  to  the 
block  that  stood  by  the  fence,  and  he  helped 
Cynthia  to  alight. 

"  I  thought  I  ought,"  she  said,  as  she  gave  her 
foot  to  his  hand  and  sprang  to  the  ground.  "  Do 
you  go  soon  ?" 

"  In  about  an  hour,"  he  responded.  Then  fol- 
lowed greetings  more  or  less  cordial  all  round. 

"  Oh,  it  seems  just  horrid  !"  exclaimed  the  tall, 
dark  girl,  clutching  her  riding-habit  with  a  grace- 
ful fling,  and  managing  to  put  herself  beside 
Horace — "dreadful,  dreadful,  to  think  how  such 
fine -looking  me«  as  are  going  out  of  the  valley 
may  suffer  and  be  abused  before  they  are  returned 


162 


to  us  again.  I  am  simply  too  unhappy  to  live 
any  longer  !" 

"  Only  our  gracious  Father  on  high  can  help  us 
to  endure  all  these  things  that  it  is  our  duty  to 
endure,"  fell  from  Mrs.  Parkridge's  lips  and 
mingled  with  her  "  good  -  afternoon."  It  sounded 
like  music,  there  was  so  much  genuine  faith  in  her 
tone. 

"  Very  kind  of  you  to  come  over,"  interrupted 
the  elder,  as  he  strode  along  over  to  the  grass- 
plot,  holding  out  his  tremendous  hand.  The  us- 
ual cheerfulness  with  which  he  greeted  everybody 
was  gone  from  his  tone.  "  Mother,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing his  wife  by  the  arm,  "  the  boy's  bag  is  on 
the  kitchen  table  for  your  last  lookin'  and  tuckin' 
in,"  and  very  abruptly  led  her  back  towards  the 
house. 

"I  am  going  to  drive  you  down  to  the  train, 
Hod,"  I  volunteered,  seeing  that  he  wanted  to  be 
alone  with  Cynthia,  "  so  I'd  best  go  and  harness 
up." 

The  pair,  thus  left  to  themselves,  strolled  down 
by  the  gai'den  gate,  and  sat  for  twenty  minutes 
of  the  last  precious  hour  that  the  boy  was  to  have 
with  us  on  the  bench  under  the  elm.  What  was 
said  I  never  knew.  They  were  conversing  ear- 
nestly. They  rose  up  and  walked  over  to  the  ma- 
ple at  the  end  of  the  path  ;  then  they  paced  back 
and  forth.  I  watched  all  this  from  the  stable  as 
I  was  making  ready. 

The  elder  finally  came  over  to  the  carriage- 


163 


house,  and,  with  a  choking  voice,  said :  "  'Lish, 
drive  up  ;  that'll  break  her  off.  'Tain't  no  good, 
anyway.  God  defend  the  boy  if  he  goes  off  this 
time  with  a  sore  heart  and  no  hope  of  the  hand- 
some gal !  But  I'm  afraid,  I'm  afraid.  Then,  too, 
I'm  afraid  his  mother  won't  outlive  it.  Heavenly 
Father,  how  hard  Thou  art !  He's  our  only  one. 
'Lish,  what  have  I  said  ?  No,  God  is  not  hard  ; 
He  is  good.  Forgive  me,  kind  Heaven  !  It's  ter- 
rible hard,  though.  I  say,  'Lish," — and  then  he 
paused,  as  if  to  gather  up  his  courage.  I  had 
never  seen  the  old  man  so  rattle-brained.  He  was 
always  able  to  express  himself  with  such  homely 
clearness.  "  'Lish,"  he  resumed, "you  haven't  seen 
anything  ?"  And  then  he  stopped  and  gnawed  his 
gray  whisker,  lifting  it  off  from  his  breast  and 
'tucking  it  between  his  lips. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  sir?"  I  ventured,  reverent- 
ly, for  he  was  shaking  so  that  as  he  leaned  on  the 
dasher  of  the  buckboard  the  whole  wagon  felt  the 
thrill  of  his  emotion. 

"  Well,"  he  struggled  it  out,  "  you  c'n  under- 
stand— don't  ever  let  him  know  I  asked  you — but 
you  haven't  seen  anything  like  his  indulgin'  in  his 
cups  agin'  sence  he  had  his  trouble  with  th'  hand- 
some witch  yonder,  have  you?"  And  he  empha- 
sized each  word  of  the  sad  question  with  a  trem- 
bling forefinger  pointing  towards  them. 

"Why,"  I  answered,  "he  stopped  all  that,  out 
of  love  for  his  itfbther." 

"  Yes — mother  and  the  young  lady,"  he  replied. 


164 


"  He  said  she  never  asked  him  to ;  but  he  told  me 
she  was  such  a  pretty  flyaway  that  if  he  had  her 
he  must  be  sober  and  strong,  and  be  able  to  put 
the  brakes  on  the  team.  That's  'fore  anybody 
came  between  'em." 

"And  that  is  as  noble  as  it  is  true,  elder. 
Heaven  bless  the  boy !"  I  could  not  make  up 
my  mind  to  evade  the  truth  further  in  my  reply, 
and  neither  could  I  reassure  him,  the  weary,  anx- 
ious-hearted father.  Heretofore  in  this  story  I 
have  scarcely  more  than  hinted  at  the  wayward- 
ness and  folly  of  Horace  Parkridge's  earlier  years. 
And  even  now  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  put  down 
on  paper  what  I  had  lately  seen  of  the  spectre's 
return.  So,  after  trying  to  turn  the  father's 
suspicions  aside  without  telling  a  lie,  I  gath- 
ered up  the  lines  and  rattled  out  of  the  carriage- 
house. 

The  old  preacher  bowed,  and,  silently  studying 
the  ground,  followed  after  me.  "Shoo!  shoo!" 
I  heard  him  cry  to  the  cackling  geese  behind  me  ; 
"  don't  quack,  quack  our  grief  all  over  the  neigh- 
borhood." There  was  something  unspeakably  sad 
as  he  talked  to  the  geese. 

As  I  drove  up  Cynthia  was  standing  by  the 
stile,  about  to  mount.  Horace  was  saying  : 

"  I  thank  you  for  what  you  have  told  me.  'Lish 
heard  what  he  said  as  well  as  you.  No  doubt 
death  will  be  thick  enough  down  there,  but  he 
must  take  his  chances  with  the  rest  of  us,  or  prove 
a  poltroon." 


165 


"  I  do  hope  God  will  return  you  to  us,"  she  con- 
tinued. 

"  You  haven't  answered  my  question,"  he  per- 
sisted ;  "  tell  me  that,  and  I  will  tell  you  whether 
I  hope  God  will  return  me  safely  or  not." 

For  what  seemed  a  long  time  she  made  no  re- 
ply. Then,  with  an  impulsive  little  start  and 
sigh,  she  said :  "  Well,  I  wear  it  still ;"  and  she 
pulled  off  her  glove  for  the  first  time,  showing 
Felton's  ring  flashing  in  the  sunlight. 

"That  is  enough.  Good-bye,  and  forever!" 
groaned  Hod. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  bit  her  red  lip,  cast 
down  her  eyes  until  the  black  lashes  rested  on 
her  cheeks,  then  pulled  on  the  glove  once  more, 
and  by  his  help  was  in  the  saddle  without  another 
word.  "Without  further  word  to  any  of  us,  in- 
deed, she  wheeled  her  rearing  colt,  shot  into  the 
highway  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  and  disappeared  over 
the  hill.  He  turned  promptly  to  me. 

"  Well,  'Lish,  time  to  go?  Ah,  she's  gone  !  I 
don't  care  what  becomes  of  her — she  isn't  worth 
a  heart-throb  !  And  yet  she  is — she  might  be. 
Wasn't  she  lovely,  now,  in  appearance?  But  let 
her  go — I  say  it  anew ;"  and  all  this  was  uttered  in 
low  tones  only  for  my  ear.  "  I  care  not  what  be- 
comes of  her,  or  what  becomes  of  Hod  Parkridge !" 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do,"  I  protested  ;  "  for  their 
sakes  you  care,"  pointing  with  the  horsewhip 
tOAvards  the  house  guests  and  his  parents,  who 
were  then  approaching  us. 


166 


Just  then  the  clang  of  the  great  clock,  standing 
so  tall  by  the  open  bedroom  window,  sounded  the 
hour. 

"  I  was  born  in  that  room,"  remarked  Horace. 

"And  you  will  sleep  there  many  a  night  yet 
Avhen  your  head  is  whiter  than  mine,  so  I  pray 
for  you,  my  only  boy,"  said  the  elder,  fairly  shak- 
ing with  his  emotion,  as  he  came  up. 

"  Father,  you  have  been  a  tender,  loving  parent 
to  me.  I  have  cost  you  many  anxious  prayers  to 
Heaven." 

"All  of  which  are  laid  up  on  high,"  answered 
the  mother,  calmly.  He  did  not  find  any  word  of 
fitting  reply ;  his  eyes  alone  answered  her.  Then 
in  a  desperate  way  he  pushed  past  them,  and 
walked  up  the  path  a  little  towards  the  house, 
saying  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoi  yoke  : 

"  Good-bye,  kind  friends;  and  you,  Mary,  good- 
bye. Write  me,  won't  you?  I  know  'Lish  won't 
object  to  it.  I  shall  want  to  see  a  woman's  hand 
now  and  then.  You  and  Mother  Holyoke  write 
me  often.  It  will  help  me  to  be  a  decent  man 
and  a  true  soldier." 

Mary  had  no  reply  upon  her  trembling  lips  as 
she  bowed  her  promise,  but  she  gave  him  her 
hand,  and  then  returned  with  her  parents  to  the 
stoop,  leaving  the  young  man  alone  with  his 
father  and  mother.  They  seemed  utterly  to  for- 
get roe,  seated  in  the  buckboard. 

"  Everything  is  in  here,"  remarked  his  mother, 
as  the  elder  lifted  the  small  bag  to  the  top  of 


167 


the  stile.     "  Being  an  officer,  you'll  have  some 
privilege  of  baggage,  they  say.     You'll  find — " 

"  Don't,  mother,  don't !"  the  boy  pleaded,  put- 
ting her  hands  back  and  gently  forcing  the  bag 
to  close. 

"  Well,  well,  I  won't,"  wiping  her  eyes,  and 
showing  for  the  first  time  her  relieving  tears  ; 
"  but  you  won't  be  careless  of  yourself,  my  pre- 
cious boy,  will  you  ?  There  is  the  little  medicine- 
case  that  the  church  gave  me  at  the  time  of  our 
silver-wedding." 

"  Don't  mother !"  pleaded  Horace,  choking. 

"  No,  mother,"  interposed  the  elder,  taking  her 
hands  away  from  the  bag,  "  the  boy  can't  stand 
it.  He'll  remember  how  everything  in  here  has 
been  sprinkled  over  with  your  tears,  and  he'll  re- 
member how  much  we  dote  on  him  and  on  his  re- 
turn as  an  honorable  man.  He'll  put  this  in  his 
pocket — it  may  stop  a  bullet,"  whipping  out  a 
Testament  from  his  own  pocket.  "  It  '11  shield  you 
from  Satan's  darts.  It's  the  one  your  old  father's 
used  in  the  parish  nigh  on  to  forty  years.  May- 
be a  text  in  it,  you'll  find  marked,  you'll  be  able 
to  hitch  some  of  my  sermons  on  to — poor  old  ser- 
mons." 

The  man  could  not  finish  his  little  homily.  As 
for  Horace,  he  was  speechless.  He  put  the  book 
in  his  pocket. 

"And  now  good-bye;  and  may  the  God  of  bat- 
tles keep  you — all  we  have  in  this  world!"  The 
elder's  eyes  were  glorious  as  his  hands  stretched 


168 


out  over  his  son's  shoulder  in  his  parting  benedic- 
tion. 

"  Mother — my  God,  father,  she  has  fainted  !" 

"  No,"  faintly  gasped  the  lady.  But  the  strong 
young  arms  lifted  the  little  woman  as  if  she  were 
a  child,  and  carried  her  all  the  way  up  to  her 
easy-  chair  under  the  vine -clad  veranda.  He 
placed  her  there  as  softly  as  she  had  placed  him 
in  his  cradle  years  ago. 

"  Good-bye,  my  darling,  go,"  she  faintly  com- 
manded; "  God  will  be  with  us  and  you." 

He  bent  down  to  her,  and  kissed  her  over  and 
over  again.  Then  he  bounded  away.  Indeed,  it 
Avas  time.  He  came  springing  down  the  path,  I 
remember.  I  whipped  up,  and  off  we  drove  as 
rapidly  as  we  could.  Mary  told  me  afterwards 
how,  as  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  gloaming 
fell  over  all,  the  old  preacher  went  up  and  stood 
by  the  chamber  door  where  his  son  had  slept 
from  boyhood  until  manhood,  and  prayed  and 
sobbed  and  committed  him  to  God.  Well  he 
might,  could  he  have  foreseen  the  peril  of  his 
manhood's  betrayal. 


CHAPTER  XII 

I  DO  not  know  that  any  eye  except  my  own 
will  ever  read  this  narrative.  In  fact,  I  am  a 
plain  man,  wholly  without  literary  ambition.  I 
am  no  artist.  Let  me  jot  down  the  marked 
events,  in  the  order  of  the  time,  just  as  they 
came. 

It  was  at  Deacon  Littlefield's  husking.  It  was 
on  my  own  barn  floor,  but  I  was  not  master  of 
ceremonies.  During  the  summer,  after  Horace 
went  off  to  the  wars,  Littlefield  had  ventured  to 
act  on  the  decision  of  the  judge  of  probate,  or 
surrogate,  and  had  actually  taken  possession  of 
my  farm  in  his  adopted  daughter's  name.  Not 
that  she  had  moved  into  the  dwelling.  But  some- 
body must  take  care  of  the  crops  and  stock,  of 
course,  and  this  the  sharp  deacon  had  proceeded 
at  once  to  do.  He  had  invited  his  neighbors  to  a 
husking-bee.  I  went  over.  All  this  interval  I 
had  not  been  idle.  But  on  dear  Mrs.  Parkridge's 
account,  and  by  her  mysterious  assurances  that 
my  time  would  surely  come,  the  crisis  when  she 
could  and  would  help  me  to  justice,  I  had  kept 
silent.  I  had  worked  hard  carrying  on  the  elder's 
farm,  and  so  really  supporting  the  family.  Hor- 


170 


ace  also  sent  his  wages  home,  and  that  helped  his 
father  out  to  a  degree. 

We  were  gathered  on  my  great  barn  floor  that 
autumn  evening.  You  may  be  sure  my  heart 
was  fuller  than  the  bursting  barns,  but  I  was  si- 
lent and  retired.  I  got  over  near  Peleg  Rumney, 
my  hired  man  of  former  days.  We  both  passed 
the  time  of  day  pleasantly,  and  bent  down  to  the 
shocks  between  our  knees.  As  we  stripped  the 
ears,  I  suddenly  demanded  of  the  old  man  : 

"  Peleg,  where  is  Mrs.  Cark  ?" 

"  I  vum  ter  Moses,  Mr.  Stone,  I  dunno,"  was  his 
reply.  "Ask  him,"  with  a  nod  of  the  head,  indi- 
cating Mr.  Littlewood  on  the  other  side  of  the 
barn  floor,  where  he  sat  husking  at  a  shock  of 
corn,  as  busy  as  any  of  his  guests. 

"  Peleg,"  I  insisted,  in  a  low  tone  behind  my 
shock,  "  I  have  waited  all  summer  patiently. 
You  know  how  ill  the  elder  and  his  wife  have 
been.  I  couldn't  do  anything  but  watch  and  wait 
on  them.  I  haven't  for  months  crossed  the  high- 
way to  come  to  this  dwelling.  Come  now,  old 
man,  I  always  treated  you  well.  There  is  going 
to  be  a  sharp  fight  right  off  about  my  property. 
Which  side  are  you  on  ?" 

But  the  skilfulest  wheedling  of  kindly  tones 
and  smiles  did  not  avail.  In  fact,  it  had  been  so 
all  the  sad  and  busy  season  whenever  I  had  made 
an  attempt  to  see  the  fellow.  Deacon  Littlewood 
had  kept  a  detective's  eye  on  Peleg  night  and 
day.  We  called  the  agent,  who  occupied  a  room 


171 


in  the  Bosworth  house,  a  spy.  That  was  the 
usual  countrymen's  name  for  this  Mr.  Sheriff 
Hooker.  All  such  proceedings  but  added  to  the 
heavy  load  of  unpopularity  under  which  the  Lit- 
tlewoods  now  staggered.  Cynthia  had  been  spir- 
ited away — ostensibly  sent  on  a  visit  to  Troy,  New 
York,  with  Mr.  Littlewood's  brother.  Every  one 
said  it  was  a  mere  ruse  to  keep  her  rebellious 
tongue  still  until  the  colonel  could  come  home 
after  some  of  the  brave  battles,  and  stay  long 
enough  to  marry  her,  whether  she  would  or  not. 
In  fact,  I  don't  think  any  one  would  have  at- 
tended this  husking -bee  of  his  at  Bosworth's 
barn  except  that  the  patriotic  neighbors  re- 
flected :  "  Well,  let's  go.  One  thing  is  true :  Fel- 
ton's  fightin'  fer  his  country  and  half  the  corn  is 
to  go  to  the  fair." 

"  Brethering,"  the  deacon  announced,  "  an' 
frends,  ye  understan'  thet  I  gin  bush'l  fer  bush'l 
to  th'  Sanitary  Fair." 

This  patriotic  promise,  which  had  been  widely 
proclaimed  by  posters,  written  by  the  deacon's 
own  hand,  at  the  cross-roads,  had  its  softening 
influence,  and  probably  had  secured  the  invita- 
tions the  grudging  welcome  that  brought  to- 
gether a  score  of  farmers.  When  now,  squat  be- 
hind a  bundle  of  corn,  the  host  was  springing  to 
his  task  with  the  utmost  exertion  by  way  of 
thrifty  example,  the  farmers  heard  his  reitera- 
tion of  benevolejit  intent  with  significant  smiles, 
as  much  as  to  say  :  "  Oh,  we  know  you" 


172 


"  You  don'  hear  no  good  news  f'm  Cap'n  Park- 
ridge,  I  vum  ter  Moses,  eh  ?"  whispered  Peleg  to 
me. 

"  He's  never  been  hurt  thus  far,"  I  answered, 
evasively. 

"  No  ?  The  big  cunnel,  I  vum,  sez  the  boy's 
a-drinkin'  hard,  an'  th'  dekin's  pious  sorry. 
When  we  got  them  letters — yer  know  I'm  over 
ter  his  place  a  good  deal  o'  th'  time — he  sez,  sez 
he  to  's  wife,  '  Yer  see,  my  dear,  haow  foolish 
Cynthy  'd  ben,  sez  he,  ef  she'd  a-taken  thet  feller. 
The  cuss  o'  th'  Almighty's  on  th'  elder's  boy;  an' 
sez  he,  my  cuss  '11  be  on  Cynthy  ef  she  don't 
come  back  f'm  Troy  an'  stop  givin'  th'  mitten 
thet  she's  ben  offerin'  t'  our  cunnel,  an'  upsettin' 
all  our  plans.'  " 

Then  the  little  old  man  chuckled  to  himself  to 
think  how  much  wiser  he  apparently  was  as  to  the 
real  situation  than  I,  and  fell  to  husking  with  all 
his  might. 

"  Peleg,  I  beg  you  not  to  spread  abroad  this 
story  of  Captain  Hod's  drinking,"  and  I  snapped 
off  an  ear  decisively  and  whipped  it  into  the  bas- 
ket. "It  will  kill  his  father  and  mother,  as 
surely  as  I  hit  that  basket  with  that  ear,  if  the 
disgrace  of  his  unhappy  slip  gets  abroad.  Heaven 
knows  the  poor  old  pair  suffer  enough  now." 

"  Wa'al,  ain't  it  so  ?"  asked  he,  speaking  quite 
loudly. 

"  Hush  !" 

"Neow,  Peleg,"    called   Littlewood,  uneasily 


173 


eyeing  us,  though  I  attempted  to  seem  more  en- 
gaged with  Eliphalet  Hood  on  my  left  than  with 
Peleg — "  neow,  Peleg,  keep  'em  all  a-goin'.  You'll 
hev  ter  shin  up  among  th'  dove-cotes  on  th'  high 
beams,  and  toss  daown  more  stalks." 

"Yis,"  was  the  ready  response,  as  the  man 
promptly  ran  up  the  ladder,  and  began  his  task 
above  us,  merrily  shouting  : 

"  Haow's  thet  ?  sez  he — an'  how's  thet  ?  sez  he," 
pitching  down  the  bundles  with  a  resounding 
crash  upon  the  floor.  "  Ez  the  boy  sed  abaout 
th'  doughnuts,  sez  he,  nevertheless  I've  eaten 
three,  likewise  they're  very  good;  I'll  take  another 
also,  sez  he,  I  vum." 

When  he  had  clambered  down  again  at  my 
side,  I  resumed  : 

"  Peleg,  how  much  does  the  deacon  pay  you  ?" 

"  Powerful  lib'ral." 

"  Do  you  like  him  better  than  you  did  me  ?" 

"He's  a  powerful  pious  man,  Mr.  'Lisha." 

"  That  doesn't  answer  my  question.  Xow, 
Peleg,"  I  said,  balancing  a  bright  red  ear  on  my 
finger  as  I  spoke,  "count  all  the  kernels  on  this 
ear,  give  that  venerable  man  a  year  in  prison 
for  every  kernel,  and  it  will  be  less  than  he  really 
deserves." 

Peleg  was  alarmed  at  so  much  as  a  mention  of 
the  word  prison.  I  saw  that  in  his  startled  look. 

"  Peleg,  now  answer  me,"  I  continued ;  "  if  you 
don't  want  to  be  implicated  with  him  and  share 
his  fate,  has  the  deacon  not  warned  you  to  keep 


174 


out  of  my  sight,  and  out  of  the  sight  of  any  one 
from  the  elder's  house  ?" 

"  But  Mrs.  Parkridge  was  over  here  less'n  a 
week  ago,  lookin'  so  pale,  and  try  in'  ter  find 
Polly  Cark." 

"Yes  ;  where  is  Polly  Cark?" 

"I  dunno,  Ivurn,  sez  I." 

"You  do,"  I  said  savagely.  "Tell  me,  or  I'll 
pitch  you  now  on  to  the  horns  of  the  cattle  !" 
The  little  old  fellow  had  probably  never  seen  me 
so  desperately  in  earnest.  His  lower  lip  dropped 
and  he  shrank  away  in  among  the  corn-stalks, 
putting  up  his  crooked  hands  by  way  of  defence. 
I  followed  up  my  advantage,  and  circumstances 
favored  me.  Mr.  Littlewood  had  gotten  the  at- 
tention of  the  rest  of  the  company  diverted  to 
a  husking  contest.  The  yellow  ears  were  flash- 
ing through  the  air  from  three  huskers  on  a  side. 
The  strife  was  to  see  which  trio  would  first  fill 
either  of  the  two  baskets  at  which  they  shot  their 
husked  ears.  Laughter  and  shout  resounded. 
Littlewood  was  urging  them  on  with  the  keenest 
relish  of  a  thrifty  master  of  ceremonies.  He  saw 
work  rapidly  being  turned  off  by  this  means,  and 
fairly  dancing  up  and  down  in  front  of  them,  he 
shouted  them  to  the  contest.  At  this  rate  the 
big  barn  would  be  well  cleared  by  ten  o'clock. 

I  pushed  Peleg  further  into  concealment.  I 
had  two  firm  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Peleg,  why  do  you  suppose  I  consented  to 
come  over  here  to  work  on  crops  that  that  re- 


175 


spectable  thief  has  stolen  from  my  acres  as  he 
has  the  acres  themselves  ?  Boy,  do  you  not  see 
that  we  are  not  even  on  speaking  terms  ?  I  have 
come  here  because  I  have  got  down  to  hard  work 
now  with  my  lawyer.  We  are  ready  for  battle. 
I  must  have  your  help.  I  can't  find  Mrs.  Cark. 
She  seems  to  have  disappeared  for  months  from 
the  neighborhood.  I  want  her.  You  know  where 
she  is.  Tell  me,  or  I  will  do  with  you,  as  a  Bible 
king  did  with  Daniel,  you  old  ingrate  —  I'll  toss 
you  over  in  with  the  Durham  bull  in  ten  seconds  !" 

"  Mis'  Cark,  she  was  driv  outen  house  an'  home 
by  th'  ghost !" 

"What?" 

"  The  ghost  what  hants  th'  ol'  house !" 

"  Ghost,  poor  fool  ?  There  is  no  such  thing 
on  God's  green  earth." 

"Yis,  th'  is.  No  feller  can't  stan'  it  but  Mr. 
Hooker,  an'  he  sleeps  with  pistols.  I  sleep  in  th' 
carriage-house  when  I  stay  here  at  all." 

"Quick  !" — I  pursued  him.  "Have  it  so  then, 
but  where  is  Cark  gone  ?" 

"I  vum  ter  hellylooya,  ez  sure's  I'm  passin' 
through  the  valley  'f  Jehosaphat,  ez  sure's  I  ever 
sailed  roun'  Cape  Horn  an'  bed  th'  fever  'n  th' 
diggin's,  I  dunno.  She's  a  goner  !" 

I  held  him  a  moment,  gazing  hard  at  him  to 
make  sure  that  he  was  telling  the  truth.  I  didn't 
become  convinced  of  his  sincerity  as  against  my 
suspicions. 

"  Peleg,  that  wt»man  is  in  the  mansion.     If  she 


176 


is  not,  the  ghost  has  flown  away  with  her,  and  it 
will  fly  away  with  you  yet  if  you  don't  turn  an 
honest  man.  In  other  words,  Littlewood  has 
sent  her  off  to  get  rid  of  her  if  she  is  not  in  that 
dwelling,  and  he  will  get  rid  of  you  if  you  do 
not  quit  him.  He  will  trump  up  some  charge. 
He'll  get  hold  of  some  of  your  Calif ornia  scrapes'." 
"  I  vum,  d'yer  spose  he  ever  heerd  'f  thet  man 
in  th'  Isthmus?"  The  little  bent  fellow  was 
suddenly  turned  into  a  coil  of  springing  wire. 
All  his  senile  drivellings  left  him.  In  one  shud- 
der he  squirmed  out  of  my  grasp,  and  stood 
erect  in  quite  a  manly  fit  of  anger,  his  eyes  glow- 
ing like  coals  in  the  dim  light  that  fell  from  the 
three  swinging  lanterns.  I  had  never  seen  the 
tiger  in  the  man  but  once  before.  That  was 
several  years  gone  by,  when  he  brought  me  one 
day  a  newspaper  advertisement  which  was  the 
description  of  himself,  accompanied  with  an  of- 
fered reward.  Then  he  told  me  his  story.  There 
had  been  an  adventure  on  the  Isthmus,  when  a 
weary  party  of  beggarly  miners  were  marching 
from  sea  to  sea,  before  the  days  of  the  railroad. 
He  confessed  enough  to  make  me  sure  that  in  a 
desperate  moment  he  had  done  a  desperate  deed. 
All  the  evil  in  the  man's  nature  was  aroused  that 
day.  I  remember  it  was  with  difficulty  I  calmed 
him.  It  had  seemed  to  me,  upon  reflection  at 
the  time,  to  be  a  merciful  and  proper  deed  to 
shield  a  penitent  old  wreck  of  a  life  which  was 
trying  to  conduct  itself  decently  at  its  close.  I 


177 


had  never  referred  to  the  subject  from  that  day 
to  this,  but  it  was  now  ray  hold  upon  him. 

"  Ef  I  thought  he  was  deep  'miff  fer  thet  " — the 
man  slipped  a  knife  from  a  curious  sheath  in  his 
boot-leg,  and  held  it  aloft. 

"  Fool,  no  !  Let's  rather  put  him  in  prison, 
where  he  belongs.  You  don't  want  to  put  your- 
self there.  Peleg,  to-night  you  must  go  over  the 
house  with  me  and  find  Cark.  She  is  there." 

"  When  shall  we  start  ?"  He  sprang  out  ea- 
gerly. 

"  After  the  cider  and  apples  and  singing  and 
fiddling  and  jigs  begin,"  I  answered.  With  that 
I  released  him  and  took  ray  place  with  the  circle 
of  workmen. 

"Hurrah!  Northbrook  forever !"  burst  at  that 
instant  in  a  rattling  shout  from  twenty  throats. 
It  indicated  that  the  husking  contest  had  resulted 
in  victory  for  three  farmers  on  our  road. 

"  Peleg  !  Dan-net,  where  is  the  little  raskil  ? 
More  stalks !"  shouted  Mr.  Littlewood,  as  he 
pawed  away  the  breastwork  of  stalks  behind 
which  we  were  temporarily  hid.  The  charcoal 
eyes,  the  shaven  face,  the  round-shouldered  fig- 
ure appeared  to  us.  He  was  ready  with  a  mouth- 
ful of  scolding,  but  the  moment  he  caught  sight 
of  Peleg,  the  knife  still  gleaming  in  his  hand, 
Littlewood  whipped  off  his  frown,  and  masked 
himself  with  that  charming  smile  which  he  al- 
ways had  at  convenience.  Most  singular,  most 
pious,  most  shrewd  man  !  Never  was  another 

12 


178 


combination  of  angel  and  devil  in  one  person  as 
in  him,  and  so  perfectly  self-possessed  ! 

"  Ab,  boy,"  he  said,  addressing  Peleg  in  tones 
of  kindly  alarm,  "  did  he  attack  you  ?"  with  a  nod 
of  his  head  towards  me.  "He's  harmless, though 
he'd  orter  be  in  th'  'sylum.  May  break  out  any 
moment." 

"No,  sir,  yer  ol'  hypercrit,  I  vum;  it's  yeou  I 
meant  it  fer." 

"Me  !"  Little  wood  started  back.  Then  he  be- 
thought himself,  wily  as  a  cat,  of  the  softening- 
influences  of  the  feasting,  perhaps  remembering 
Peleg's  weakness  for  such  things,  for  he  cried 
out: 

"Peleg,  it's  time  fer  the  cider.  Go  get  the 
cider  and  the  pies.  Ten  mince-pies,  and  ten  pun- 
kin-pies,  a  pan  o'  doughnuts,  and  the  cheese  curd. 
Wa'al,  they're  all  over  ter  th'  house." 

"  Littlewood,"  I  said,  "  who  made  your  pies  in 
that  empty  house  ?" 

"Why,  dan-net — "  At  that  moment  the  cattle 
burst  forth  in  one  of  their  bellowing  choruses. 
This  time  the  bleating,  the  bellowing,  the  rattling 
of  shining  horns  tipped  with  brass  buttons  clash- 
ing against  one  another  and  striking  against  the 
stanchions,  the  bovine  alarm  and  protest  against 
such  midnight  intrusion  by  human  revellers,  was 
more  pronounced  than  it  had  been  at  all.  Any 
one  who  ever  attended  a  husking-bee  will  recall 
these  occasional  uproars  made  by  cattle.  A  busy 
millionaire  railway  president  once  said  to  me  : 


179 


"When  I  am  wholly  worn  out  in  the  office,  I 
sometimes  close  my  eyes  and  go  back  again  to 
hear  the  music  of  forty  head  of  cattle  bellowing 
to  the  light  of  a  late  lantern,  swinging  at  my  boy- 
ish hand,  in  front  of  a  stanchion  on  a  barn  floor." 

The  noise  was  an  excuse  for  Littlewood  and 
me  to  break  off  our  encounter  that  promised  no 
good  to  either  of  us.  The  noise  let  Peleg  slip 
out,  scampering  away  to  fetch  the  refreshment. 
It  was  an  accompaniment  for  the  cleaning  up  the 
floor  with  brooms.  At  all  events,  enough  work 
had  been  done  to  match  the  late  hour,  and  men 
were  ready  to  eat  and  drink  and  be  jolly. 

"  It's  'leven  o'clock,  neighbors  an'  brethering," 
shouted  Littlewood.  "  You've  done  well — fer  the 
fair.  Neow,  let's  hev  some  new  cider  with  no 
drunk  in  't,  and  nice  pies.  They're  a-comin'." 

At  that  moment  the  last  bullock  at  the  far  end 
of  the  stables  sighed  out  his  regrets,  perhaps,  that 
he  and  his  did  not  eat  pies.  Just  then,  too, 
tripped  into  the  centre  of  the  group  of  cross- 
legged  huskers,  as  they  sat  around  the  floor — 
who? 

"  Cynthia  Littlewood  !"  Everybody  exclaimed 
it. 

"  Good-evening,  neighbors,"  she  saluted  us. 

There  was  a  thrill  of  genuine  pleasure  which 
stirred  us  all  with  that  laughing  salutation.  She 
was  never  more  beautiful,  though  I  thought  pale 
and  thin,  as  I  saw  her  under  the  lantern's  light. 
She  was  dressed  like  the  milkmaids  in  the  plays 


180 


that  I  have  seen  since — white  apron,  pretty  bare 
hands  carrying  the  plates,  her  dark  hair  adorned 
with  some  autumn  spray,  I  think  a  bit  of  golden - 
rod,  and  all  about  her  graceful  self  a  witchery 
that  no  man  could  resist  without  the  clapping  of 
hands  and  cheers.  She  had  such  a  welcome  as 
only  honest  hearts  can  give  a  lovely  woman. 

"  She  ain't  party  to  't,"  I  overheard  an  old 
farmer  whisper  to  his  neighbor. 

"  No ;  she  wants  ter  undo  't  all,  and  jilt  th' 
cunnel,  and  gin  up  the  lawsuit." 

This  rumor  of  Cynthia's  changed  disposition 
had  got  abroad,  and  was  perhaps  something  of  a 
factor  in  the  partial  toleration  of  the  Littlewood 
family  in  the  neighborhood  of  late. 

"  Wa'al,  wa'al,"  exclaimed  several  voices, "and 
the  other  beauty  too  !" 

True  enough,  Mary  Holyoke  walked  in  just  be- 
hind Cynthia,  carrying  a  basketful  of  tumblers, 
and  evidently  the  girls  were  in  friendly  accord.  I 
saw  immediately  that  Deacon  Littlewood  was 
taken  very  much  by  surprise.  The  two  pretty 
dears  had  met  since  the  morning,  and  had  come  to 
know  each  other's  minds,  that  I  saw,  and  it  set  me 
to  thinking  upon  my  problems  so  hard  that  I  for- 
got to  rise  and  greet  the  young  lady,  who  had 
just  returned  from  her  visit  at  Troy.  But  she  did 
not  forget  me,  and  coming  over  to  me,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  We  miss  the  boys,  don't  we,  Elisha  ?" 
as  she  handed  me  my  plate.  "  Times  are  sad  in- 
deed. Look  on  this  barnf  ul  of  gray  heads  and 


181 


mere  lads.  No  merry  dancing  to-night,"  and  she 
tried  to  laugh  for  cheer. 

"  You'll  see  the  men  dance,  my  pretty,"  laughed 
out  old  Ichabod  Hobbs,  who  sat  near  me  and 
overheard  her.  "  Wait  till  they've  had  a  nip  of 
your  father's  new  cider." 

When  Mary  rustled  along  near  me  I  asked, 
eagerly,  "  What's  in  the  wind  now  ?  what  have 
you  two  witches  been  up  to  since  I  left  the 
house  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  strangest  of  all  strange  things.  Cyn* 
thia  rode  over  this  afternoon,  to  our  infinite  sur- 
prise, and  invited  me  to  help  her  here  to-night,  as 
the  guests  were  to  be  all  men.  That  was  the  ex- 
cuse. Then  we  had  such  a  long  talk  together,  all 
about  the  sad  news  from  Horace,  and  she  actual- 
ly cried  over  him.  She  is  in  love  with  him.  She 
doesn't  wear  Felton's  ring,"  with  a  shake  of  her 
pretty  finger  at  me.  "She  expects  him  home, 
though,  on  a  furlough  any  time,  and  at  almost 
any  moment.  I  am  afraid  there  is  to  be  such 
a  scene  then.  She  declares  she  will  never  keep 
her  engagement  with  him,  that  she  has  practical- 
ly broken  it  now.  The  best  of  all,  she  is  fully  in 
sympathy  with  us  in  securing  your  rights.  She 
has  discovered  that  she  is  not  Mr.  Bosworth's 
child." 

"  What !"  But  before  I  could  snatch  another 
word  with  Mary,  Mr.  Littlewood  himself  pushed 
in  between  us  with  some  empty  compliment  to 
the  young  lady,  and  it  was  quite  an  interval 


182 


before  I  could  again  get  Mary's  ear.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  a  righteous  Providence  was  bringing 
me  this  girl,  Cynthia,  at  last  for  an  ally?  I 
picked  away  at  my  food  in  silence,  reviewing 
what  my  lawyer  had  sketched  out  for  me.  The 
next  opportunity  that  I  could  secure  I  said  to  Mary : 

"  Did  Cynthia  talk  with  Mrs.  Parkridge  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  told  her  that  we  must  now  find  Mrs. 
Cark ;  that  that  was  the  next  step." 

"  Exactly.  Did  poor  Mrs.  Parkridge — did  you 
— were  you  present  while  they  conversed?"  I 
asked,  quite  losing  my  self-possession  in  the  ex- 
citement of  a  sudden  culmination  to  many  long- 
formed  plans  by  Ashael  Keep  and  myself. 

"Yes;  and  poor  sick  woman,  she  was  very  much 
overcome  by  the  fact  that  Cynthia  had  voluntari- 
ly visited  us.  She  said  that  her  end  was  nigh. 
She  had  carried  some  secret  as  long  as  she  could, 
that  Horace's  present  wrong-going  was  breaking 
her  heart  quite,  and  she  had  no  desire  to  live 
longer.  She  kissed  Cynthia,  and  asked  her  for- 
giveness— I  don't  quite  know  for  what,  neither  did 
Cynthia — and  she  made  Cynthia  pledge  herself  to 
write  Horace.  The  poor  girl  eagerly  gave  the 
promise,  asking  if  Horace  would  indeed  be  glad 
to  hear  from  her.  Mrs.  Parkridge  directed  her 
to  begin  her  letter  by  saying  '  in  obedience  to  a 
promise  made  to  your  dying  mother.'  "  By  this 
time  the  fiddle  was  tuning,  and  the  men  were 
thumping  the  floor  with  their  cowhide  boots,  and 
becoming  decidedly  jovial. 


183 


"What  then,  Mary?  I  cannot  let  you  go,"  I 
cried,  "  till  you  answer  me.  Tell  me  before  you 
and  Cynthia  leave."  I  held  her  by  the  long  white 
string  of  her  apron. 

"  I  don't  know  just  what  else  was  said,  for  they 
two  wished  to  be  alone.  When  Cynthia  came 
out  into  the  kitchen  after  some  minutes  she  was 
nearly  hysterical.  She  only  said,  '  Where  do  you 
suppose  Papa  Littlewood — Mr.  Littlewood,  rath- 
er— stamping  her  foot,  has  sent  Mrs.  Cark  ?' " 

"That  is  what  I  will  find  out  before  I  sleep!" 
I  exclaimed.  "Peleg  shall  help  me — Peleg  must 
be  true  to  me,"  I  vowed,  with  a  blow  upon  my 
knee,  as  the  girl  sped  away  from  me,  flinging  her 
"  Heaven  prosper  you  !"  after  her  retreating  form. 

The  uproarious  jig  of  these  farmers  I  think  I 
witnessed,  but  I  was  not  amused  by  it.  For  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I  sat  apart  from  the  jollifica- 
tions of  my  hearty  neighbors ;  I  kept  my  position 
there,  upon  the  floor,  amid  the  husks.  I  was  con- 
tinually thinking,  "I  must  have  Peleg."  The  lit- 
tle old  man  was  not  to  be  seen.  I  waited  for  him, 
watched  for  him.  I  would  soon  go  to  search  for 
him  if  he  did  not  reappear;  but  he  was  still  not  to 
be  seen,  and  Mr.  Littlewood  was  missing  also. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

STEPPING  out  into  the  night,  I  encountered  Lit- 
tlewood  talking  with  his  factotum,  Hooker,  of 
whom  I  have  made  mention,  giving  the  name  that 
he  was  known  by  among  the  farmers — the  spy. 

"  Where's  Peleg  ?"  demanded  Little  wood.  "  I'm 
goin'  hum.  Cynthia  must  go  with  me.  Where  is 
the  gal?  The  mansion  seems  to  be  shet  up.  I 
allus  retire  when  th'  hilarity  begins.  It's  very 
worldly.  Strange,  strange  that  men  kin  git  so  jolly 
on  nothin'.  That  there  cider  is  only  a  month  old." 

"You  must  allow  something  for  custom  and 
great  animal  spirits  and  good  cheer,"  responded 
Hooker,  in  his  cold  dry  way.  "  It's  only  the 
good  spirits  of  good  fellers  who  think  they've 
done  a  good  deed  to  the  fair  for  the  soldiers,  and 
they  are  having  a  shout  at  the  end." 

"Yis,  yis.  By-the-way,"  replied  the  deacon, 
bustling  into  the  carriage  -  house  and  returning 
with  a  bushel-basket  in  his  hand,  "  I  brought  this 
over.  If  they  get  to  wantin'  to  measure  up  the 
corn  fer  the  fair,  use  this;  it's  stronger." 

"And  smaller,"  chuckled  Hooker,  with  a  poke 
in  his  employer's  ribs. 

"Nothin'  of  the  sort,"  was  Littlewood's  un- 


185 


abashed  reply.  "It's  th'  sacred  bushel  I  allus  use 
in  dealin'  with  the  Lord's  cause.  I  give  Him  a 
tenth  of  all  ray  income,  V  am  glad  ter  git  off  so 
cheap.  Now,  let  Peleg  shet  up  th'  buildin's  when 
they're  through.  Ah !  here  he  is  with  the  hoss. 
Where's  Cynthy  ?" 

"She  went  over  to  the  elder's  for  the  night," 
answered  Hooker. 

"It  mustn't  be!"  exclaimed  Littlewood,  excit- 
edly; "I'll  drive  over  'ri'  git  her  t'  oncet.  Good- 
night," and  he  was  about  to  whip  up  his  animal. 
His  solicitude  about  Cynthia's  unexpected  visit 
made  him  quite  forgetful  of  any  possible  warning 
that  he  wished  to  leave  with  Peleg  about  having 
further  conversation  with  me.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he 
did  not  see  me,  as  I  stood  under  cover  of  the  tool- 
house  shed. 

"  Mr.  Littlewood,"  the  man  Hooker  spoke  very 
decidedly  ;  so  sharply,  indeed,  that  the  farmer 
pulled  up  his  horse  instantly. 

"Well,  what's  wrong?" 

"I  sha'n't  stay  in  that  mansion  another  night !" 

"  Whew  !"  whispered  the  deacon,  dropping  the 
lines  across  the  dashboard.  "  Come  up  ter  the  wag- 
gin." 

Hooker  obeyed,  saying:  "I'm  good  for  any 
number  of  flesh- and -blood  thieves,  Littlewood, 
but  spirits  from  another  world  is  raore'n  I  bar- 
gained to  keep  guard  against." 

"  Cracky !  But  you  ain't  seen  no  angels," 
laughed  Littleivood. 


186 


"Angel  or  devil,  I've  seen  and  heard  enough 
in  the  two  months  I've  occupied  that  house.  I'm 
all  worn  out.  When  a  feller  can't  sleep  at  night, 
what's  life  worth?  So  pay  me  to-night,  and  let 
me  ride  down  to  the  four  corners  with  you.  I'll 
walk  the  rest  of  the  way  to  the  train  at  West 
Village." 

"  Oh,  pooh,  pooh ;  not  ter-night,"  protested  the 
deacon,  evidently  in  the  greatest  perplexity. 

"  Yes,  siree,  to-night !  Sit  along.  I've  got  my 
bag.  Last  night  was  enough  for  me." 

"  ^Yhy,  man,  man,  I  know  what  'tis.  'Tain't 
nothin',"  urged  Littlewood,  fairly  whining  out  his 
pleading  protest. 

"  I  don't  care  what  'tis.  Sit  along !  Let  Peleg 
keep  guard  from  his  room  in  the  stables.  If  the 
old  Californian  were  asked  to  sleep  in  that  library 
where  I  have  slept  of  late,  he'd  lose  all  the  hair 
that's  left  on  his  old  bald  pate  before  two  nights 
were  passed.  Sit  along !"  And  Hooker  at  once 
with  no  more  ado  climbed  over  the  front  wheel, 
giving  his  travelling-bag  a  sling  into  the  back  of 
the  buggy. 

Littlewood  sat  in  blank  dismay.  He  managed 
to  say, 

"  But — but — dan-net,  the  gal,  my  darter." 

"Let  her  spend  the  night  with  the  preacher's 
folks.  She  is  there  already.  Drive  out  of  here  be- 
fore that  old  moon  gets  mooning  any  higher  on 
the  old  pile,"  responded  Hooker,  with  a  thorough- 
ly frightened  glance  over  his  left  shoulder. 


187 


When  a  brave  man  once  gives  way  to  his  fears 
his  courage  melts  as  fast  as  a  snowbank  in  June. 
Hooker's  blood  had  all  turned  to  water  evidently. 
I  confess  to  a  certain  contagion  of  his  terror  as  I 
witnessed  it,  it  was  so  abject.  Yet  I  was  so 
thankful  for  the  unexpected  Providence  of  a 
clear  coast,  and  escape  from  the  need  of  playing 
burglar,  that  I  could  scarce  refrain  my  lips  from 
crying  out  my  gratitude. 

"  Well,"  meditated  Mr.  Littlewood,  in  ugly  de- 
cisiveness, "  nothin'  frightens  me — except  my 
woman's  tongue,"  with  a  chuckle.  "  If  't  warn't 
fer  her,  I'd  stay  myself,  V  let  Cynthy  sleep  at 
th'  elder's.  Old  Lady  Parkridge's  pooty  sick, 
but  she'll  not  say  nothin'  yit.  Peleg !"  he 
shouted  at  length,  and  as  the  little  old  man 
obediently  dodged  from  the  stable  into  a  broad 
bar  of  moonlight  his  employer  gave  his  orders: 
"  Hooker's  sick,  orf  ul  sick,  got  ter  take  him  t'  th' 
doctor's  ;  yer  look  arter  things  all  raound  till  I 
come  over  'n  the  mornin',  or  perhaps  sooner. 
G'  lang,  Dob,"  and  with  a  slap  of  the  thin  black 
lines  across  the  horse's  hips  away  the  pair  rattled 
out  over  the  shining  gravelled  driveway.  I  re- 
member that  distinctly — do  I  not? — that  he  re- 
marked, "  Old  Mrs.  Parkridge  '11  say  nothing 

yet." 

For  myself,  I  climbed  up  on  the  seat  of  a  mow- 
ing-machine in  the  black  shade  of  the  tool-house 
shelter.  The  flood  of  silver  from  the  moon,  just 
on  a  level  with  the  horizon,  lay  like  a  glistening 


188 


carpet  along  the  frosty  earth.  I  sat  there,  think- 
ing, till  the  last  farmer  had  at  length  come  out 
from  the  husking  hilarities,  and  had  gone  with  his 
chattering  fellows  various  ways  over  field  and 
highway.  Peleg  at  length  began  to  shut  his 
doors.  I  heard  them  bang  and  bang  one  after 
another.  Then,  as  the  old  miner  issued  forth  from 
the  barnyard  gate,  I  slipped  down  and  suddenly 
confronted  him. 

"  All  ready,  my  brave  fellow  ?" 

"Master  Stone,  what  is  it?"  he  cried,  with  a 
look  of  pretended  surprise. 

"All  ready  to  go  upon  our  search  for  Mrs. 
Cark — Polly,  our  excellent  Polly — who  must  have 
left  some  line,  some  farewell  message  of  direc- 
tion for  her  few  friends,  as  she  departed  to  re- 
gions unknown.  We  must  look  for  her,  old  boy, 
or  for  a  line  in  reference  to  her,  in  yonder,"  point- 
ing towards  the  residence. 

"  I  won't !"  He  spoke  decisively  enough,  but  I 
could  see  that  he  was  fairly  white  with  fear. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will.  Go  get  the  extra  key  that 
is  doubtless  hanging  in  the  harness-room.  Come, 
be  quick,  man ;  this  is  not  as  hard  a  night's  work 
by  any  means  as  you  have  undertaken  in  the 
course  of  your  somewhat  checkered  career." 

I  threw  him  one  significant  glance,  and  then  let 
him  off  upon  his  errand.  He  went,  oh  yes.  He 
obeyed.  He  had  better !  He  was  gone  a  long 
time.  I  kept  my  station  in  the  solemn,  deserted 
yard  in  the  rear  of  the  mansion.  The  effect  of 


189 


the  great  golden  harvest  moon,  as  yet  so  low 
down  that  its  huge  sickle  seemed  to  threaten  the 
gable  of  neighbor  Kipling's  hill-top  barn,  was  to 
fill  the  broken  country  with  stalking  shadows 
everywhere,  and  shadowy  things  seemed  to  be 
creeping  away  from  me  as  the  light  mounted 
higher.  The  cone-shaped  shadows  of  the  firs  by 
the  garden  wall,  the  cobweb  of  my  windmill, 
which  at  first  lay  about  my  feet  in  a  tangle,  and 
the  menacing  finger  of  the  stumpy  spire  on  the 
carriage-house  among  the  trees  slipped  away — all 
of  these  slipped  away  from  me  farther  and  far- 
ther, and  left  me  standing  in  the  light. 

7  O  O 

"  Like  my  unhappy  days  and  troubles,"  I  medi- 
tated, speaking  aloud  to  the  night. 

The  wide  brick  dwelling  burst  slowly  into 
grace  and  glory  in  glaring  contrast  with  its  aspect 
of  neglect  by  peeling  dingy  paint,  as  seen  of  late 
in  the  glare  of  day. 

"  Perhaps,  at  last,  after  all  this  laying  of  plans, 
light  is  coming  on  my  way,"  I  said,  still  talking 
to  the  night. 

I  fell  into  such  a  reverie  that  I  forgot  my  man. 
Moving  around  a  little  to  the  left,  I  studied  the 
tall,  dark  windows,  each  one  of  which  seemed 
sealed  so  closely  that  I  found  it  hard  to  believe 
a  living  human  being  was  hiding  behind  any  one 
of  them.  I  saw  again  the  old  Senator  in  mem- 
ory, as  I  can  just  dimly  recall  him,  by  the  great 
front  door,  leaning  on  his  stick,  consulting  his 
morning  weather-gauges.  I  was  often  sent  over 


190 


here  on  errands.  Doubtless  it  was  the  tinkling 
of  the  thin  streams  in  the  iron  fountain — what  a 
shame  to  leave  the  water  on  so  late  in  the  fall ! — 
sounds  of  splash  and  tinkle,  I  say,  that  suddenly 
seemed  a  voice.  It  resembled  so  startling] y  the 
Senator's  whisper  and  wheeze  between  his  coughs 
and  his  call : 

"  Boy,  how  are  the  folks  over  to  Holyoke's  ? 
What's  your  errand?  Let  us. have  it,  and  then 
go.  I  like  boys  best  when  a  good  ways  off." 

Then,  friendless  little  farm-hand  that  I  was, 
not  knowing  what  day  kind  Abner  Holyoke 
might  say  he  had  got  through  haying  and  the 
tedder-boy  might  find  another  job,  still  I  used  to 
stare  back  at  the  grim,  stately  old  Senator,  and 
console  myself  with  the  thought, 

"  I'm  glad  he  is  not  my  father." 

As  now  I  stealthily  crept  around  the  corner  of 
the  dwelling  the  silent  knoll  where  my  mother 
slept  came  in  full  view,  on  a  straight  line  through 
the  stately  pillars  where  the  Senator  should  have 
been  standing  if  alive.  I  don't  know  why,  but 
somehow  I  connected  the  two  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  ;  doubtless  because  both  had  passed 
on  into  that  impenetrable  mystery  suggested  by 
the  fair  head-stones  on  the  hill.  The  Senator's 
ashes,  however,  did  not  rest  yonder.  That  much 
I  knew.  Where  they  were  buried  I  do  not  think 
I  knew. 

Still  I  lingered  and  dreamed  inactive,  waiting 
for  my  man's  return.  I  do  not  think  in  all  my 


191 


days  I  had  ever  given  that  rich  old  lord  of  the 
hills  so  much  thought  as  now.  I  could  have  eas- 
ily imagined  him  watching  me,  fully  revealed  by 
some  strange  function  of  memory;  and  when  I 
contrasted  my  present  stature  with  my  boyish  as- 
pect those  years  gone  by,  this  most  curious 
mental  impression  suddenly  seized  upon  me, 
namely,  I  was  sure  that  I  had  grown  to  resemble 
that  tall,  broad-shouldered  gentleman.  I  had  my- 
self, in  turn,  come  to  man's  estate,  as  he  was 
when  I  remembered  him  in  his  prime  and  day  of 
honors. 

"  The  outrage  of  it  is,  sir " — I  found  myself 
apostrophizing  the  former  owner,  standing  there 
— "  the  outrage  of  it  is  that  all  this  was,  is,  the 
once  friendless  boy's  property  ;  purchased,  these 
acres,  by  his  thrift  and  savings.  And  this  man- 
sion, once — yes — ah,  I  burn  so,  old  sir,  when  I 
think  of  it,  how  I  have  been  defrauded  by  some 
curious  fatality,  that  I  have  kept  myself  from 
even  crossing  the  highway  for  months  lest  I 
yield  and  set  a  torch  to  the  pile !" 

"Here  is  the  key." 

I  turned,  in  astonishment,  to  confront  both 
Mary  Holyoke  and  Cynthia  Littlewood  !  They 
had  approached  me  from  behind,  so  noiselessly 
flitting  along  their  way  as  I  stood  near  the  grass 
border  that  I  had  heard  not  even  the  fall  of  a 
footstep.  They  were  clinging  timidly  together, 
and  Mary  at  once  placed  her  hand  within  my  arm. 
The  night,  now  breathing  mists,  had  sprayed  their 


192 


faces  with  diamond -powder,  which  glistened  in 
the  soft  moonlight. 

"  This  is  wrong,  girls." 

"  It  is  right,"  answered  Mary. 

"  Peleg  has  turned  coward  ;  but  he  brought 
the  key  over  to  the  elder's,  if  he  would  not  bring 
it  to  you,"  Cynthia  chimed  in. 

"How  is  the  sick  woman?" 

"Much  worse  —  the  excitement  of  dear  Cyn- 
thia's coming,"  answered  Mary.  "We  were  sitting 
in  her  chamber.  I  suppose  Peleg  saw  the  light, 
and  brought  us  there  the  key  and  his  lantern." 

"Not  only  my  coming,  I  fear,  has  affected 
poor  dear  Mrs.  Parkridge,"  Cynthia  explained, 
clutching  closer  Mary's  arm  as  Mary  clung  closer 
by  the  second  to  me,  "but  that  again  there  is  no 
Thursday's  letter  from  Horace,  so  she  says.  Three 
weeks  now — what  can  have  happened?  And  all 
the  more  strange,  because  the  regiment  is  cer- 
tainly in  New  York  city  to  quell  some  rioting  if 
it  should  occur.  I  know  this,  because  I  am  any 
moment  expecting  to  see  Colonel  Felton  here, 
running  up  from  New  York.  He  wrote  me  to 
that  effect." 

I  made  them  no  reply  regarding  Horace.  My 
own  heart  was  too  full  of  forebodings,  and  of  the 
probable  explanation  of  his  silence,  but  I  asked, 
abruptly : 

"Do  you  really  wish  to  enter  on  this  search 
with  me,  and  probably  meet  Mrs.  Cark,  at  this 
hour  of  the  night?" 


193 


"  Certainly,"  responded  Mary ;  " Mrs.  Parkridge 
herself  has  directed  us  to  do  so." 

"  And  my  lawyer,  Keep,  urges  that  there  must 
be  no  further  delay." 

"And  especially  now  that  I  inform  you  of  Col- 
onel Felton's  probable  reappearance  at  any  in- 
stant," added  Cynthia. 

"  Come  on !"  I  promptly  replied. 

We  crossed  the  yard  to  the  broad  flight  of 
shallow  stone  steps.  An  owl  remonstrated  from 
some  lawn  tree  to  the  northward.  A  bat  darted 
out  to  greet  us  with  a  sinister  circle,  leaving  her 
concealment  under  the  stone  cornice  above  the 
great  door.  A  gust  of  wind  from  the  north  hills 
— the  first  stir  of  air  in  all  this  still  night  thus  far 
— gently  folded  a  mass  of  river  fog  about  us,  ob- 
scuring the  moon  in  its  ghastly  veil.  But  we 
pushed  straight  on  now,  and  the  next  moment 
entered  the  house. 

"  What  a  clang  to  that  great  door !  how  it 
echoes !"  Suddenly  Cynthia  spoker  it,  while  I 
paused  in  the  heavy  air  of  the  hallway  to  strike 
the  lantern  light.  "What  is  that?"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  two  sharp  strokes  of  an  alarm-bell  sa- 
luted her  ears. 

"Why,  it's  Elisha's  own  clock  on  the  stair," 
answered  Maiy. 

"Two  o'clock  at  night,  November  28,  18 — . 
Hooker  has  kept  the  venerable  timepiece  faith- 
fully wound,  has  he  not?  Please  God,  the  old 
clock  shall  mark  many  a  happy  hour  here  yet  for 


194 


us  and  ours  and  all  our  friends,"  I  answered,  my 
spirits  rising  as  theirs  seemed  to  fall. 

Crossing  the  great  hall  we  began  to  ascend  the 
stairs,  when  Cynthia  turned  back  to  survey  in  the 
dim  light  the  confusion  of  the  littered  apartments. 
Rolls  of  new  carpeting,  boxes  of  furniture,  and 
several  ungainly  shapes  of  sacking,  which  seemed 
almost  human  and  ready  behind  us  to  start  troop- 
ing after  up  the  winding  stair. 

"  All  this  reminds  you  of  a  narrow  escape  from 
an  unhappy — what  would  surely  have  been  an  ex- 
ceedingly unhappy  life  ?"  asked  Mary. 

"  If  I  only  were  escaped  !"  was  the  dark  girl's 
reply,  and  with  that  she  darted  on  before  us.  At 
the  head  of  the  stair  she  stopped  short,  turned  to 
the  right,  uttered  a  little  shriek,  which  ended  in 
a  low,  trembling  wail.  The  echo  of  that  voice 
thrilled  me,  and  my  nerves  are  pretty  steady,  too. 

Mary  stopped  and  clutched  my  arm  vigorously; 
then  gasped,  "  What  is  it  ?"  But  instantly,  like 
the  reasonable  woman  she  is,  she  recovered  her 
good  common -sense,  and  flung  my  arm  away  from 
her  as  she  flew  up  to  the  landing,  and  bent  to  lift 
the  half-fainting  Cynthia,  who  was  pointing  tow- 
ards the  left  wing  of  the  building. 

A  peculiar  light  fell  and  fluttered  over  her, 
with  alternation  of  shadow  and  glow,  somewhat 
like  the  effects  that  I  have  since  seen  produced  in 
tableaux.  A  man's  stride  is  slower  than  a  wom- 
an's flight,  and  I  had  full  opportunity  to  witness 
this  as  I  was  stumbling  upward  towards  the  girls. 


195 


Once  by  their  side,  I  saw  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  hall  what  I  expected — the  wrinkled  witch,  the 
object  of  my  long  search — the  wished-for  sight  of 
a  person  whom  Keep  and  I  had  considered  neces- 
sary for  our  suit  during  many  a  day. 

"  Mrs.  Carle !  Polly,  you  poor  deceiver  !"  I 
cried,  "  the  jugglery  of  your  Pamp  and  your  gro- 
tesque dress  cannot  deceive  us.  You  certainly 
have  succeeded  in  making  yourself  look  frightful, 
but  we  recognize  you.  What  is  your  purpose  ?" 

I  addressed  her  at  such  length  as  to  give  her 
small  opportunity  to  play  any  of  her  graveyard 
tricks  upon  us.  She  listened  ;  she  lowered  the 
lamp,  a  curious  flambeau  that  her  own  ingenuity 
had  produced,  and  her  eyes  paused  on  me  move- 
less till  I  ceased. 

"  I  have  had  a  long  imprisonment,"  she  sighed. 
"  I  am  not  sorry  to  see  you,  though  I  bear  no  love 
for  you,  Elisha  Stone,  nor  for  Mary  Holyoke." 

"What  have  you  to  say  of  me?"  asked  Cyn- 
thia, pleadingly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  haggard  raasquerader  regarded  Cynthia 
Little  wood  a  moment  with  a  fixed  stare,  a  stare 
which  softened  and  hardened  by  turns.  There 
were  for  a  moment  the  tenderest  emotions  strug- 
gling in  the  features  of  the  unhappy  woman,  then, 
as  over  the  valleys  amid  the  mountains  a  cloudy 
day  brings  forbidding  gloom,  a  darker  look  filled 
her  countenance  and  forbade  all  loving  ap- 
proach. 

"  I  would  walk  around  the  world  to  save  your 
feet,  Cynthia,  a  single  step  too  many."  She 
spoke  very  abruptly.  "But  nothing  seems  to 
save  you.  You  will  not  save  yourself."  She 
ceased  speaking  without  approaching  us. 

Remember  that  I  knew  nothing  of  what  Mo- 
ther Parkridge  had  been  saying  to  Cynthia. 

"Do  you  say  so?"  answered  Cynthia,  offering 
to  draw  near  her.  I  was  astonished  by  the  girl's 
tones  of  tenderness.  "Let  me  come  and  kiss 
you,  poor  lady.  What  does  all  this  shutting  up 
here  mean  ?  How  dreadful  all  this  ghostly  busi- 
ness is  in  our  quiet  neighborhood.  Why  are  you 
here  ?  What  do  you  know  about  me  ?" 

She  rained  such  questions  as  these  upon  Cark, 


197 


one  after  another,  until  poor  Polly  seemed  to  be 
dazed  by  them  and  by  their  eagerness. 

"Stop!  Don't  come  near  me,  Cynthia!"  she 
protested.  "  I  couldn't  go  on  with  my  part  if  I 
were  once  to  hold  you  in  my  arms." 

"There  is  no  reason  under  heaven,  woman, 
why  you  should  stay  here  and  play  the  lunatic," 
I  put  in.  "Why  have  you  kept  yourself  hidden 
away  from  our  sight  ?" 

"  Ask  Deacon  Littlewood,"  she  answered. 

"  What  has  he  to  do  with  you  ?"  I  demanded, 
as  I  alone  made  bold  to  walk  over  to  her  side. 

"It  was  a  choice  between  this — and  the  asylum 
or  prison,"  she  answered. 

"  Explain  further."  I  said. 

"In  an  unfortunate  moment  of  great  joy,  as  I 
then  thought,  and  such  a  moment  is  rare  to  me, 
when  I  learned  that  his  daughter  Cynthia  was  to 
be  married,  in  order  that  I  might  keep  my  old 
place  and  be  near — I  would  say,  continue  to  earn 
my  bread — I  allowed  myself  to  say  something  to 
Mr.  Littlewood  and  Mr.  Felton  one  day  that  I 
ought  never  to  have  said."  Then  she  paused  so 
long  that  I  must  needs  prompt  her. 

"  Well,  why  ought  you  not  to  have  said  it,  and 
do  you  mind  telling  us  what  it  was  that  you 
should  not  have  said  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  said  it,  Elisha  Stone,  be- 
cause when  one  begins  with  a  falsehood  in  early 
life,  after  a  time  the  lie  becomes  a  devil,  a  very 
demon,  a  monster  from  hell,  and  one  must  needs 


198 


die  standing  by  her  lie,  or  the  truth,  if  spo- 
ken, will  take  some  one's  life  whom  you  hold 
dear." 

"  Whose  life  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Parkridge's,  for  one." 

"  You  are  mistaken  now,  Polly,"  I  said ;  "  for 
she,  too,  has  been  seeking  you  in  vain,  and  urged 
us  most  pathetically  to  find  you  and  hear  some- 
thing that  you  had  to  say.  Tell  her,"  with  a 
motion  of  my  head  towards  Cynthia,  "  whose 
child  she  is." 

"  I  knew  Cynthia's  mother." 

"  Oh,  tell  me  of  her,"  pleaded  the  girl,  sweep- 
ing forward  and  falling  on  her  knees  as  she 
caught  the  retreating  woman  and  held  her  fast. 
"  When  some  years  ago  I  first  knew  it,  I  felt  it, 
that  Mrs.  Littlewood  was  not  my  own  mother, 
the  lonely  thought  began  to  distress  me  so ! 
Whose  child  am  I?  I  have  known  of  late  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Littlewood  have  been  using  me  to 
further  their  own  fortunes.  And  I  am  not  Mr. 
Bosworth's  child,  am  I  ?  " 

"  Woman  !"  I  suddenly  cried,  addressing  Polly, 
"be  careful  of  that  torch  ;  it  is  leaking  fire  on 
the  girl's  dress." 

She  righted  her  camphene  torch  for  a  moment, 
while  I  sprang  to  the  left  and  scuffled  my  heavy 
boots  over  the  flaming  spots  that  darted  a  dozen 
tiny  tongues  up  at  me  from  the  floor.  The  in- 
terruption and  fright  were  profitable  for  our 
greater  familiarity,  and  we  fell  after  it  into  a 


199 


more  natural  posture  all  around,  as  became  flesh- 
and-blood  beings  in  a  natural  world. 

"  I  knew  your  mother,  too."  Mrs.  Cark  ad- 
dressed me  now. 

"No  doubt  of  it,  Polly.  But  first  as  to  Cyn- 
thia." 

Again  the  gaze  of  tenderness  was  bent  on  the 
beautiful  young  Avoman  who  had  sunk  once  more 
at  her  feet.  It  was  a  loving  look  for  a  moment ; 
but  then,  as  if  by  some  powerful  resolution,  or 
suddenly  stung  to  its  death  by  an  ugly  memory, 
the  softened  look  changed  into  a  hard,  unfeeling 
stare  as  before,  and  she  answered  me : 

"  Does  Mrs.  Parkridge  consent  that  I  may  re- 
ply to  your  questions  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Mary,  coming  forward 
and  putting  a  caressing  hand  on  the  woman's 
shoulder  ;  "  she  says  it  is  time  to  do  right,  time 
that  we  all  began  to  act  sensibly.  Here  is  Elisha 
defrauded  of  his  property  by  unwilling  Cynthia." 

"Unwilling?"  shaking  off  Mary's  touch. 

"  Certainly  she  does  not  wish  to  marry  Felton, 
nor  to  possess  this  property.  It  is  by  his  prompt- 
ing." 

"And  I  will  not,  oh,  I  will  not  marry  him!" 
cried  Cynthia,  springing  to  her  feet  and  daring 
to  throw  herself  on  Polly's  breast. 

The  clear  ringing  tones  of  the  girls  could  un- 
doubtedly have  been  distinctly  understood  in  the 
lower  hall  of  the  building.  The  echo  of  their 
stout  protest  was  yet  sounding  and  enforcing  its 


200 


silence  on  us  all  when  we  heard  a  masculine  voice 
ascending  the  stairs. 

"  That's  her  lie  to  me  !"  It  was  Arthur  Alfred 
Felton's  voice  which  came  up  through  the  dark- 
ness. Immediately  after  it  came  this  other  voice, 
saying  : 

"Darter,  darter,  Heaven  '11  smite  th'  disobe- 
dient !" 

Mrs.  Cark  lifted  her  sputtering  torch  with  a 
snatch  and  jerk  into  the  air.  I  held  aloft  my 
lantern.  Colonel  Felton  and  Mr.  Littlewood  were 
promptly  revealed  on  the  upper  landing.  With- 
out waiting  their  nearer  approach  I  asked  Little- 
wood  : 

"How  much  did  you  pay  Hooker  and  Peleg 
for  the  treason  that  gave  you  this  information  ?" 

"  Never  mind — I  diskivered  yer.  Yer  liable — 
yer  liable  fer  breakin'  V  entering  NeoW,  Polly, 
we  want  yer.  Come,  git  yer  traps.  Yer  ain't 
told  nothin',  I  hope  ?  Remember)  th'  All-Seem' 
Eye 's  on  yer." 

He  came  directly  on,  as  if  to  seize  her.  I  of- 
fered to  step  between  them. 

"  Stand  aside  !"  the  wild  woman  hissed  like  a 
fury.  "  I  need  no  defender  against  that  man  !" 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  be  careful  of  that  torch  !" 
I  expostulated  ;  for  she  swung  it  like  a  dreadful 
weapon,  and  the  dropping  little  tongues  of  flame 
streaked  the  darkness,  imperilling  us  all. 

"  Let  Stone  take  it,  Polly,"  said  Littlewood,  per- 
suasively, using  that  smile  of  which  I  have  made 


201 


mention,  as  he  started  back  a  step  for  fear  of 
some  spatterings  of  fire. 

"  I  have  other  use  for  it,"  she  answered,  gath- 
ering the  staff  of  her  torch  in  both  her  hands. 

Again  I  busied  myself  with  extinguishing  the 
flaming  drops  upon  the  floor,  at  the  same  time  re- 
assuring by  a  whispered  word  the  frightened 
girls  who  stood  clinging  to  each  other  behind 
me. 

"Let's  be  reasonable,  my  dear  madame,"  ex- 
claimed Colonel  Felton. 

"  Stop  !"  she  cried.  "  Cynthia,  step  here — face 
him  !  Do  you  wish  to  marry  this  man  ?" 

Gliding  to  Mrs.  Cark's  side,  and  yet  half-shield- 
ing herself  behind  the  woman,  the  girl  was  about 
to  answer,  when  Felton,  with  an  oath,  sprang  at 
her  with  every  sign  of  personal  assault ;  but  be- 
fore he  could  advance  I  stood  on  the  intervening 
boards  of  that  floor  promptly  enough,  you  may 
be  sure. 

"  Cynthia  Littlewood,"  he  shouted,  "unless  you 
keep  your  faith  with  me,  I  suppose  you  wish  to 
engage  yourself  to  that  grand  specimen  of  a  man, 
Major  Horace  Parkridge,  cashiered  officer,  dis- 
graced outcast,  wandering  about  the  saloons  of 
New  York  City  ;"  and  he  laughed  derisively. 

"O  God,  it  cannot  be  so!"  moaned  Cynthia, 
clasping  her  hands,  as  I  have  seen  a  marble 
statue  in  a  cathedral  over  a  tomb,  and  her  cheeks 
were  as  bloodless  as  that  marble. 

"  Don't  believe  it !"  cried  Mary  Holyoke,  spring- 


202 


ing  to  her  side.  "  Oh,  don't  believe  it,  my  dear ! 
Even  if  it  were  so,  God  is  great  and  good,  and  can 
save  to  the  uttermost." 

"  Speak,  my  girl!"  demanded  Mrs.  Cark,  in  shrill 
tones  ;  "  here  in  my  presence  give  him  his  reply." 

"  I  have  written  you,  Colonel  Felton,"  resumed 
Cynthia,- raising  her  great  eyes  to  gaze  fully  upon 
him,  and  speaking  with  most  impressive  dignity. 
"  I  wrote  you  that  I  believed  you  were  an  adven- 
turer ;  that  I  had  ceased  to  love  you,  if  indeed  I 
ever  did  ;  that  I  prayed  God  to  forgive  me  for  my 
wrong  to  Horace  Parkridge,  and  the  mischief  that 
my  coquetry  had  wrought.  Beyond  that,  it  is 
none  of  your  business  to  know  what  my  heart  may 
prompt  me  to  do  with  regard  to  the  dear  boy. 
But,  sir " — and  she  grew  more  beautiful  by  her 
high  resolve  each  instant — "I  here  charge  you 
with  his  ruin.  You,  you  put  the  cup  to  his  lips 
anew.  You  knew  the  sad  story  of  his  frailty  in 
the  past,  and  availed  yourself  of  it  for  his  eternal 
destruction,  if  possible.  You,  who  could  not  de- 
stroy him  in  battle,  nor  give  him  a  position  where 
courage  would  win  him  anything  but  added  hon- 
or, you  tempted  him.  I  say  in  the  presence  of 
these  all,  what  you  boasted  to  me  in  your  letters 
which  came  in  reply  to  my  own,  like  a  cruel  taunt. 
You  said,  '  Take  him,  then  ;  I  have  succeeded  in 
getting  his  old  habit  grafted  on  the  lovelorn 
wretch  once  more !' "  Then,  turning  to  Deacon 
Littlewood,  the  brave  girl  went  on  :  "  Oh,  sir,  to 
think  I  ever  should  have  to  bring  my  lips  to 


203 


charge  it  on  the  man  who  fed  them  in  their  in- 
fanc}r !  But  I  have  many  other  things  to  say  to 
you  at  another  time— this  is  enough  now.  As  a 
professor  of  the  religion  which  you  have  taught 
in  the  church  where  you  are  an  officer,  how  can 
you  longer  co-operate  with  this  man  Felton  in 
the  gi-eat  wrong  he  is  doing  to  others  in  this 
community  ?" 

"My  dear  child,  I  can't  'low  yer  t'  lose  all  these 
fine  acres,"  the  old  man  began  to  protest. 

"I  am  not  your  child,  nor  Senator  Bosworth's 
child." 

Mr.  Littlewood  gasped,  stammered,  coughed, 
and  looked  around,  but  made  no  reply.  In  fact, 
Felton  gave  him  short  opportunity  to  reply,  for 
with  an  added  curse,  which  I  will  not  record, 
turning  to  me  savagely,  he  said  : 

"  So,  you  cowardly  stay-at-home,  you  have  been 
working  out  all  this  while  your  betters  have  been 
engaged  in  nobler  things  ;  but  you  will  fail,  Lit- 
tlewood," flinging  the  explanation  over  his  shoul- 
der towards  him  without  looking  at  him,  and  all 
the  while  blazing  at  me,  his  hands  clinched,  his 
feet  bringing  him  by  the  inch  nearer  and  nearer 
with  every  word,  "We  have  fixed  that.  She 
signed  the  marriage  deed." 

"Oh,  I  never  did  —  never,  never!"  protested 
Cynthia,  stepping  forward  almost  to  meet  him. 
"  You  prepared  a  legal  paper.  You  said,  '  When 
we  are  man  and  wife,  may  I  be  master  of  the 
Bosworth  place,  as  you  will  have  the  Littlewoods' 


204 


property  in  your  own  right?'  I  replied,  'Yes; 
when  we  own  it,  and  also  when  we  are  actually 
wed.'  'True,'  you  assented,  'but  see  how  easily 
I  could  put  your  name  in  here.'  " 

The  literal  and  circumstantial  details  of  this 
history  seemed  to  put  even  Colonel  Felton's  as- 
surance out  of  countenance,  and  for  a  moment  he 
was  silent,  which  gave  me  my  opportunity  to  say: 

"  Forger,  you  have  since  done  it !  You  have 
put  her  name  in  there,  if  you  have  any  such  paper." 

"  Look  for  yourselves,"  he  cried,  instantly  pro- 
ducing the  deed  and  quickly  pulling  it  open,  while 
he  pointed  to  Cynthia's  name  in  the  proper  blank. 

"U-h-m,"  groaned  Deacon  Littlewood,  exult- 
ingly — that  peculiar  groan  which  I  have  tried  be- 
fore to  describe,  and  presume  no  language  can 
depict.  "  How  is  that  ?" 

We  were  now  drawn  into  a  knot  of  heads,  ex- 
cept the  two  white  heads,  Polly's  and  Deacon 
Littlewood's,  to  study  the  instrument  in  ques- 
tion and  examine  it  critically.  I  held  the  lantern 
high  above  them  all.  Felton  kept  the  paper  in 
his  clutch  meanwhile.  The  signature  was  so  ac- 
curate that  Mary  and  I  were  dismayed.  As  we 
all  started  away  from  the  fateful  paper,  I  said  to 
Cynthia : 

"  That  signature,  if  genuine,  makes  you  a  crim- 
inal, poor  girl." 

"  But  it  is  not  genuine,"  she  answered,  not  of- 
fended by  my  words,  lofty  and  immovable  in  de- 
fiance of  her  accuser ;  "  and  if  it  is  not  genuine, 


205 


as  it  is  not,  it  makes  him  a  criminal.  That  is 
what  you  are,"  with  a  menace  of  her  graceful 
forefinger  at  him. 

"  Certainly,"  was  my  quiet  comment. 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  my  lips  when  the 
man  slipped  a  revolver  from  his  breast.  I  knew  not 
which  of  us  he  menaced,  nor  did  I  wait  to  dis- 
cover. I  hope  he  meant  me.  Let  it  be  so  put  on 
paper.  The  most  dastardly  deed  of  a  coward  we 
will  not  write  against  him.  He  would  not  have 
shot  a  woman,  young,  lovely,  and  once  nearly  his 
bride.  I  happened  to  be  holding  the  huge  door- 
key  in  my  hand,  such  a  door-key  as  the  lock- 
smiths of  a  former  generation  wrought  to  move 
the  great  bolts  of  heavy  oaken  portals.  It  was 
like  a  hammer.  I  threw  it  with  the  aim  that  only 
a  farmer's  boy  ever  acquires.  It  struck  Felton's 
hand.  It  was  done  as  quick  as  a  flash.  The  re- 
volver fell  and  exploded  as  it  struck  the  floor. 
No  one  was  harmed.  I  was  on  him  in  a  moment, 
and  bore  him  down  with  a  fall  that  shook  the 
building. 

It  was  just  then,  in  her  wild  misery,  that  Polly 
Cark  whirled  her  camphene  torch,  like  a  veritable 
Witch  of  Endor,  and  flung  it — God  only  knows 
why,  but  obedient  to  some  wretched  impulse — 
crashing  and  spurting  inextinguishable  flame 
through  the  doorway  of  that  room  in  the  L.  It 
was  her  room,  her  grotesque  den,  filled  with  com- 
bustible trinkets,  hung  with  tattered  lace  curtains 
and  gewgaws  that  were  food  for  a  conflagration. 


206 


"  Fire  !  fire  !  Why,  dan-net  to  dannation,  th' 
hag's  set  th'  old  pile  on  fire  !"  yelled  Mr.  Little- 
wood,  as  he  turned  his  back  on  us  and  began 
scampering  towards  the  stairway  with  all  his 
might. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  BUKNIXG  farm-house  is  the  most  helpless 
thino-  on  earth.  It  is  left  to  burn.  Who  shall 

O 

help  it,  poor  thing  ?  Not  the  trees  which  fling 
their  shrivelling  arms  and  lash  themselves  in 
such  a  passion  of  pity,  as  they  resolve  at  length 
to  die  with  the  roof  that  they  have  so  long 
shaded.  Not  the  robber  winds  that  suddenly 
spring  out  of  the  valleys,  massing  from  the  four 
quarters  of  heaven  at  once  in  the  stillest  land- 
scape, whistling  to  each  other,  these  mischief-lov- 
ing winds,  as  they  congregate,  "  Lo,  here  is 
sport !"  and  then  snatching  the  crumbling  shingles 
piecemeal,  and  bearing  them  aloft  with  many  a 
whirl  towards  the  defenceless  out-houses,  stables, 
and  haystacks. 

Help,  oh,  help  !  But  who  can  ?  What  can  ? 
Not  the  late  flocking  wild-geese  journeying  south- 
ward that  night  to  escape  the  winter's  cold,  who 
fell  into  the  fierce  heat,  with  the  purple  doves 
from  their  cot  in  the  northwest  tower.  It  was 
terrible  when  we  had  escaped  and  stood  watching 
what  no  human  hand  could  defend,  as  it  crumbled 
in  the  hot  flame.and  fell  into  its  own  red  throat. 
Nor  could  the  bellowing  cattle  help  the  unhappy 


208 


dwelling,  nor  the  bleating  sheep,  nor  the  horses 
that  struck  their  hoofs  in  protest,  neighing  from 
the  stables,  "  Help,  help  !" 

The  farmers  came  tramping  through  the  fields, 
and  one  by  one  threw  their  legs  over  the  fences, 
each  armed  with  his  useless  pail.  The  gables  of 
the  neighboring  farm-houses  for  four  or  five  miles 
away  blushed  in  the  red  light,  and  the  window- 
sashes  gleamed  as  if  in  their  own  conflagration. 
There  were  no  engines,  no  bells  to  call  to  neigh- 
bors, only  the  faint,  far-going  cry  of  neighbor 
after  neighbor,  as  each,  aroused  from  his  slum- 
bers, sprang  across  his  threshold  and  cried  to  the 
black  night : 

"  Fire  !  fire  !  fire  !"  As  if  we  did  not  all  know 
it.  What  is  the  use  of  calling  like  that,  unless  it 
be  that  it  is  a  form  of  prayer. 

We  all  stood  there,  mute,  motionless.  I  felt 
the  hot  tears  run  down  my  cheeks.  I  held  Mary 
by  the  hand  and  spoke  to  her  hoarsely :  "  My 
darling,  so  go  up  in  this  mountain  cloud  of  cin- 
ders all  my  dreams  of  this  home  with  you.  I  am 
so  glad  now  that  I  lingered  long  the  night  before 
when  it  was  in  its  beauty  calm  and  glowing  in 
the  moon,  and  made  a  picture  forever  of  the  old 
dwelling  on  my  brain." 

The  man  Felton  sat  on  the  garden  wall,  his  fine 
features  ugly  with  a  smirk.  The  deacon  was  in 
his  buggy  out  on  the  drive  towards  the  gates,  de- 
termined at  least  to  save  the  beast  and  the  vehi- 
cle, and  apparently  careless  of  Cynthia,  who 


209 


crouched  beside  Mrs.  Cark,  about  whose  bony 
shape  she  pityingly  wrapped  her  own  shawl. 
We  continually  retreated,  little  by  little,  before 
the  increasing  heat,  till  we  were  half-way  to  the 
gates,  when  Elder  Parkridge  came  running  out  to 
meet  us. 

"  I  dared  not  leave  her  to  come  sooner,"  he 
shouted  on  before  him.  "  I  fear  this  will  be  the 
last  straw  to  break  her  back.  But,  'Lish,  it's  only 
the  L  that's  on  fire  yet.  There's  a  brick  parti- 
tion between  that  part  and  the  main  dwellin'.  If 
you  could  save  the  roof  from  sparks — now  that 
this  wind  is  from  the  east  it  will  help  you  to  live 
up  there." 

I  sprang  up,  crying  :  "  Thank  you  ;  I  am  a  dull 
and  slow  fellow,  but  I  am  no  craven.  The  lad- 
ders, the  ladders !"  I  yelled  my  appeal  as  I 
leaped  towards  the  barns. 

A  score  of  men  rushed  to  help  me.  We  raised 
the  ladder  and  I  went  first,  as  I  ought.  We 
formed  a  line  of  men  and  women  ;  Mary,  Cynthia, 
the  farmers'  daughters  and  wives,  even  poor  frail 
Polly  Cark  helping  to  compose  this  line.  The 
elder  stood  at  the  fountain  and  dipped  in  the 
pails.  From  hand  to  hand  they  flew,  the  dripping 
pails.  We  men  stood  in  our  blue  woollen  stock- 
ing-feet on  the  roof.  All  the  boys  were  with  me 
there,  except  the  hardiest  and  strongest,  who 
were  away  at  the  wars.  It  was  a  long  fight. 
The  ghostly  ligfrt  of  morning  was  visible  in  the 

east  at  last,  and,  thank  Crod  and  his  angels,  we  pre- 
14 


210 


vailed  in  the  end.  Breathless,  yet  vigilant,  erect 
there  upon  the  gable,  I  remember  that  I  stood 
watching,  while  catching  my  breath,  the  day  as 
it  grew  lighter  and  lighter  with  a  sweet,  pure 
white  radiance  ;  watching  as  the  dull  red  of  the 
dying  conflagration  grew  fainter  and  fainter.  At 
last  the  sun  burst  in  his  brightness  over  the  moun- 
tains. In  his  beams  I  lifted  myself  up,  and  while 
they  cheered  faintly,  that  little  band  of  my  neigh- 
bors, I  lifted  my  cap  and  reverently  said : 

"  My  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  the  favoring 
winds,  for  the  kindly  help  of  loving  friends,  and 
for  strength." 

The  entire  main  edifice  was  intact,  but  smoke- 
grimed,  cruelly  injured,  and  most  pitiable  under 
the  strong  light  of  the  sun. 

"  The  part  where  th'  ghost  lived  's  a-goner,  'n' 
th'  ol'  house  '11  be  th'  sweeter  fer  't,"  cried  Farmer 
Kipling  up  to  me  from  the  yard.  That  recalled 
my  thoughts.  At  length  as  I  descended  the  lad- 
der, and  mingled  with  the  group  upon  the  grass, 
I  missed  the  elder  and  Mary. 

"  They  have  gone  to  the  house,"  explained 
Cynthia. 

"  That  forged  paper  !"  I  whispered  to  her.  "It  is 
all-important  if  we  are  to  pursue  his  punishment." 

"Oh,  oh,"  exclaimed  Cynthia;  "but,  of  course, 
it  was  burned." 

"  It  fell  on  the  floor,"  I  ejaculated.  "  That 
was  this  side  of  the  doorway,"  and  without 
another  word  I  strode  off  upon  my  search  for  it. 


211 


As  I  entered  the  lower  hall  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Felton  on  the  stairs  descending.  He  threw  him- 
self out  quickly  at  the  round  window  half-way 
down.  He  must  have  seen  me,  for  the  light  from 
the  open  door  behind  me  would  have  revealed 
me.  Evidently  he  thought  himself  concealed  by 
the  murky,  smoke-laden  air  that  filled  the  man- 
sion. Perhaps  I  imagined  it — his  laugh  of  ex- 
ultation. He  had  preceded  me  in  the  search. 
Had  he  found  the  fatal  paper,  and,  therefore, 
laughed  derisively  at  my  defeat,  or  had  he  as- 
sured himself  that  it  was  destroyed,  and  never 
could  be  produced  against  him  and  the  deacon  ? 
I  did  not  then  know.  Groping  my  way  up  the 
stairs,  I  saw  at  a  glance  the  futility  of  all  search. 
The  entire  end  of  the  structure  towards  the  west 
was  open  to  the  day,  and  the  east  wind  was 
sweeping  up  from  the  lower  hall  across  the  floor, 
carrying  out  the  smallest  particles  of  dust  into 
the  abyss  of  smoke  and  dying  embers. 

"  Come  on,  yer  smai't  feller,"  Mr.  Littlewood 
was  saying,  as  a  few  moments  later  I  stepped 
from  the- door  ;  "yer,  Colonel  Felton,  with  all  yer 
brass  buttons  on,  I  mean.  Come  on,  'n'  go  hum 
'th  me."  He  had  turned  his  vehicle  round  and 
was  headed  towards  the  barns. 

"  Some  thanks  are  due  the  men  for  saving  our 
property,"  said  Felton. 

"Wa'al,  neow,  whose  property  's  this  ?  I  guess 
we'd  better  settle  that  question  fust,"  growled  the 
shrewd  deacon. 


212 


Felton  pondered  the  question  a  moment,  bit  his 
lip,  threw  me  a  look,  half  defiance,  half  fear,  and 
then  got  in  with  the  old  man.  They  turned  to 
the  rear  farm  drive,  passed  the  barns,  and  so  dis- 
appeared without  the  need  of  further  meeting 
with  the  groups  of  neighbors  around  the  fountain. 

As  I  approached  the  group  of  honest  fellows, 
my  kind  neighbors,  some  one  proposed  three 
cheers,  "  'N'  may  yer  yet  git  yer  own,  fire  and 
fraud  not  countin' !" 

When  the  cheers  had  ceased,  I  said,  "  Friends, 
I'm  sui'e  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you."  I  got 
so  far  with  my  speech,  when,  looking  casually  to 
my  right,  I  descried  Mary  Holyoke  running  like 
a  deer  out  at  a  distant  farm  gate  of  the  Parkridge 
place.  I  paused  to  look  at  her.  On,  breathlessly 
on,  she  came,  till  at  the  granite  posts  of  our  en- 
trance she  paused,  put  her  hand  to  her  side  and 
leaned  hard  by  the  stone  for  support.  Others 
had  been  watching  all  this  with  me. 

"  Somethin'  happened.  Th'  gal's  outer  breath," 
cried  a  boy. 

"I'll  go  meet  her.  She's  been  workin'  passin' 
pails  o'  water  here  with  the  rest  on  us,"  quickly 
echoed  another. 

But  it  was  I  who  went  to  meet  her,  outstrip- 
ping boys  and  men.  "What  is  it,  Mary?"  I 
shouted,  before  I  had  reached  her. 

"  Oh,  quick !"  she  gasped,  pressing  her  heart, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  Mary  Holyoke's 
cheeks  were  colorless. 


213 


As  soon  as  I  reached  her  I  said :  "  Lean  on 
me,  dear  heart,  and  walk  slowly.  Never  mind 
telling  me  the  message.  I  know  it  is  something 
wrong  over  there.  We  will  go  and  see." 

But  she  insisted  on  resuming  her  tidings  be- 
tween her  gasps. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Parkridge,  we  fear,  is  dying — the 
fire  shock  was  enough — but — when  Polly  Cark — 
came  in — that  was  more.  Polly — fell  on — the  pil- 
low, sobbing  and  caressing  her.  The  worst — was 
— when  the  poor,  imprudent,  well-meaning  Polly — 
moaned  out — that — deplorable  tale  about  Horace 
— which  Felton  brought  us." 

"  Great  God  !"  I  cried  to  Heaven,  "  can  you 
forgive  that  in  addition  to  all  the  rest  of  her  mis- 
chief?" 

"Wait.  Then  Horace's  mother — rose  up  in 
bed.  With  a  face  full  of  intense  maternal  dis- 
tress she  cried  out:  'Where  is  Elisha  Stone? 
Call  him.  He  promised  to — '  And  then  she  fell 
back  insensible." 

We  went  directly  to  the  chamber  of  the  in- 
valid, whom  we  all  loved  so  dearly.  The  moment 
I  entered  the  room  Mrs.  Parkridge,  who  had  re- 
vived, cried  out  to  me  in  strong  tones : 

"  Elisha  Stone,  you  once  solemnly  promised  to 
obey  me.  Leave  all,  and  go  seek  Horace.  He  is 
in  the  den  of  lions." 

"  I  will  go,"  I  answered,  reverently,  pausing  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed.  "  God  give  you  ease  of  mind, 
dear  soul." 


214 


"  And  I  want  you  to  go  with  him,  my  husband," 
she  directed,  lifting  her  thin  hands  to  clasp  him 
about  the  neck  as  he  stood  beside  her  bed. 

The  tall  clergyman  bent  lower,  yielding  to  her 
caress,  and  kissed  her;  but  though  he  did  not 
speak  any  dissent  to  her  wishes,  his  countenance 
indicated  a  protest.  I  came  near,  and  she  drew  me 
down,  giving  me  at  once  this  message  for  Horace: 

"  Tell  him  that  his  mother  will  not  die  till  she 
sees  him  once  more.  Tell  him,  how  like  the  dear 
light  of  heaven  is  the  love  his  mother  cherishes 
for  him.  Tell  him  that  no  shame,  no  misstep  and 
its  anguish,  no  wandering  from  the  true  and  right 
way,  can  ever  avail  against  the  forgiving  grace 
of  God  and  a  mother's  love.  As  his. father  will 
be  with  you,  he  will  say  what  only  a  priest  of 
Christ  can  say  when  he  is  a  father  and  the  sinner 
is  his  only  boy.  But  bid  him  return  here.  Here 
is  health  of  body  and  soul.  Here  is  Cynthia — yes, 
tell  him  Cynthia  waits,  and  that  a  mother's  bless- 
ing waits  to  pour  itself  out  on  their  two  heads." 

"  Dear  loving  heart,"  exclaimed  Cynthia,  enter- 
ing to  hear  that  last.  And  then  the  dark  girl  gave 
me  a  message,  quick  as  thought,  to  add  to  the 
mother's,  as  I  went  my  way  for  the  erring.  She 
seemed  for  an  instant  as  she  opened  her  lips  to 
be  struggling  with  some  maidenly  reserve ;  but 
then,  remembering  the  duty  she  owed  them  all, 
she  said,  quickly: 

"Tell  him  to  come  quickly  back  here  to  the 
hills.  It  is  all  sorrow  without  him ;  it  will  be  all 


215 


joy  with  his  coming.  Tell  him  I  confess  my 
wrong,  and  want  to  right  it."  With  that  she 
broke  away  from  us,  hiding  her  blushing  face  be- 
hind her  hands  .as  she  left  the  room. 

"  What  time  does  the  Montreal  Express  pass 
south  through  West  Village,  Abner?"  asked  the 
elder  of  Mr.  Holyoke. 

I  saw  that  that  settled  it.  In  less  than  an  hour 
we  were  seated  in  the  buckboard,  with  Mary  to 
drive  and  return  the  team.  At  the  station  I  said 
to  Mary, 

"  You  will  see  Ashael  Keep  ?" 

"  Yes,  everything  is  left  at  loose  ends,  I  know, 
but  I  will  do  my  best.  Let's  see,"  and  she  whipped 
out  her  tablet  and  pencil,  "  See  Keep.  Watch  the 
next  move  of  Littlewood  and  Felton,"  and  she 
pencilled  down  memoranda  of  conversations  she 
had  heard  that  eventful  night. 

"  Try  to  have  Cynthia  remain  at  the  elder's." 

"Yes,  and  Mrs.  Cark — shall  she  talk,  or  wait 
until  you  return?" 

"  That  depends  on  the  action  of  our  enemy." 

"  Have  we  all  the  money  we  want  for  the 
journey?"  asked  the  elder,  suddenly  arousing 
himself  from  the  lethargy  of  heartache. 

Mary  gave  me  a  look  commanding  silence.  I 
only  reassured  him.  In  fact,  I  had  the  most  of  that 
dear  girl's  wages  for  the  school-teaching  of  the 
summer  in  my  pocket-book  for  this  journey.  She 
had  pressed  it  upon  me.  "  Take  it.  It  is  for  the 
service  of  their  son.  Have  they  not  given  us  a 


216 


roof  for  months?"  I  had  also  the  money  from 
three  tons  of  the  elder's  hay,  sold  at  the  village 
scales  two  weeks  before.  How  strange  it  seems 
to  me  to-day  to  write  down  such  penury  and  close 
counting  of  dollars  in  that  hard  time  of  duty, 
but  we  were  wretchedly  poor. 

"  There  comes  the  train,"  cried  Mary.  "  Tele- 
graph the  first  news  you  hear.  God  speed  you." 

We  spoke  no  further  good-byes.  As  the  wheels 
began  to  move  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was 
only  ten  o'clock.  "The  smoke  of  my  half-burned 
home  must  be  about  as  large  in  volume  as  ever," 
I  remarked  to  the  elder. 

"  It  seems  all  a  dream,  so  quick,  so  many  things 
since  ten  o'clock  yesterday.  O  God !  spare  her 
life  till  we  find  him.  Boy,"  addressing  me  di- 
rectly, "  when  you  are  married,  and  have  children, 
you  will  find  a  strange  state  of  things  in  your 
heart.  At  first  you  love  the  woman  you  wed  the 
best  of  all  the  earth.  Then  the  children  seem  about 
as  dear.  As  time  creeps  on,  however,  the  chil- 
dren come  and  go,  here  and  there ;  but  the  wife — 
oh,  the  wife,  the  companion  heart,  and  the  mate 
to  your  own  life,  she  is  the  most  precious — she  re- 
mains. I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  say  so  either, 
yet — I  go  because  I  love  my  boy,  don't  I  ?  Yes, 
but  I  go  mostly  because  I  love  her,  and  to  find 
him  will  bring  her  up  from  her  bed  of  languish- 
ing," and  he  hid  his  face  behind  his  hands,  while 
his  distress  relieved  itself  apparently  in  prayer. 

I  telegraphed  back  at  White  River  Junction, 


217 


asking  Dr.  Brown  to  answer  us  at  Springfield  how 
Mrs.  Parkridge  bad  passed  the  day.  In  the  gloom 
of  a  rainy  night  I  groped  around  that  since  famil- 
iar old  station  until  I  got  my  reply:  "She  will 
live  until  you  find  the  boy." 

As  the  train  rattled  on  the  elder  would  not  try 
to  sleep — he  wished  to  talk — so  I  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt myself,  and  offered  what  consolation  a  lov- 
ing listener  might.  These  are  some  of  the  things 
he  said  : 

"  I  would  like  to  take  Hod  Parkridge  on  my 
knee  and  spank  him  most  to  death  !  Then  I 
would  bury  him  in  my  heart,  dear  child. 

"  Pai'ents  know  that  it  is  full  as  important  that 
a  boy's  wife  be  a  good  girl  as  that  a  daughter's 
husband  be  a  good  man,  because  boys  are  more 
naturally  wild.  If  a  husband  wrecks  your  daugh- 
ter's life,  she  will  come  home  to  you,  and  you 
can  heal  her  heart ;  but  if  another  woman  wrecks 
your  boy's  life,  where  will  he  go,  following  Satan? 

"  What  pay  does  a  fellow  get  in  serving  Satan 
to  compensate  him  for  his  mother's  losing  her 
pride  in  him  ? 

"  If  Hod  could  suffer  all  alone,  I  would  let  him. 
I  don't  know  but  I  could  stand  my  part  of  it ;  but 
when  I  see  his  mother  suffering,  my  sorrow  is  just 
doubled  up,  and  I  can't  stand  it.  It  chokes  me 
to  death,  because  I  loved  his  mother  when  she 
wras  the  fairest  daughter  of  Eve  that  the  sun  ever 
shone  upon. 

"  I  believe  Hod's  mother  loves  him  better  than 


218 


she  loves  me,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  She  loves  me  as 
she  loves  herself.  That  is  the  Lord's  rule,  and  all 
man  can  ask;  but  she  loves  him  better  than  she 
loves  herself,  and  that  is  divine. 

"  No  doubt  Hod  would  give  up  his  life  for  me, 
but  would  he  give  up  his  bad  habit  of  drink  for 
me  ?  It  is  more  than  life  when  it  gets  hold  of  a 
fellow.  Only  Christ  can  shake  off  that  grip  of  a 
bad  habit. 

"I  believe  God  loves  poor  Hod  better  than  he 
does  the  cool  scoundrel  Felton,  who  never  drinks, 
who  says  there  is  no  God,  who  has  never  known 
any  God  but  self. 

"  I'm  sure  there  are  lots  of  good  angels  this 
moment  looking  and  watching  over  Hod,  but  I 
am  afraid  the  angels  have  got  scared  off  from 
walking  around  Mr.  Little  wood  latety.  Profes- 
sions ain't  possessions." 

When  at  last  he  slept  I  watched  the  white- 
haired  clergyman  as  faithfully  as  he  and  his  wife 
had  watched  the  night  through,  according  to  the 
country  custom,  with  my  mother's  lifeless  form 
years  before. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"  Now,  then,  to  look  for  a  needle  in  a  haymow," 
sighed  Elder  Parkridge,  wearily,  as  we  stepped 
from  the  cars  in  New  York.  Those  were  in  the 
old  days  when  the  trains  were  dragged  through 
Fourth  Avenue  by  horses.  Then  the  street-cars 
took  us  down  to  the  vicinity  of  the  City  Hall. 

"  Suppose  We  look  for  a  bite  of  something  to 
eat  first,"  I  answered,  reassuringly.  We  jostled 
along  among  the  hurrying  crowd  of  passengers, 
most  of  whom  seemed  going  in  the  great  city  as 
straight  as  a  rifle-ball  to  its  mark. 

After  we  had  broken  our  fast  we  began  that 
weary  thing,  a  search.  A  search  for  a  lost  person 
is  the  utmost  contradiction  of  words.  You  have  a 
definite  object  before  you,  yet,  in  fact,  you  have 
nothing  before  you.  You  think  of  a  single  face; 
you  are  conscious  of  a  sea  of  faces.  Your  tongue 
is  ever  ready  to  exclaim,  "I  have  found  you  !" 
Your  thought  is  ever  forced  to  exclaim,  on  second 
look  of  the  eyes,  "I  do  not  want  you." 

"  Have  we  nothing  whatever  to  guide  us,  no 
clew  at  all  ?"  asked  the  elder,  as  we  walked  down 
Broadway. 

"Yes,  we  will  go  down  to  a  place  called  the 


220 


Battery.  That  is  a  city  park.  His  regiment  is 
in  camp  there.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  has  been 
cashiered,  as  Felton  calls  it;  that  is,  discharged 
from  the  army." 

"  God  forbid  that !  No,  no,  but  Felton  may 
have  set  such  a  scheme  in  motion." 

"Then  he  will  be  under  arrest  there,"  I  replied. 

"But  no;  in  that  case  Felton  ought  to  be  pres- 
ent, for  Horace  is  a  major  of  his  regiment — brevet- 
major,  you  know,"  the  elder  explained,  and  I  tried 
to  review  our  home  discussion  of  what  brevet 
meant. 

"  But  he  was  still  in  command  of  his  com- 
pany ?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand  so."  Then  we  jogged  on 
with  occasional  original  commands  from  my  com- 
panion, such  as  "  One  man  is  of  no  great  account 
amid  so  many,  'Lish,  as  are  crowding  along  these 
sidewalks.  So  would  you  think  unless  you  stopped 
to  think  again  that  the  sparrows  are  often  as  thick 
on  an  oat-field  as  the  men  and  women  are  on 
these  pavements,  and  not  one  of  them  falls  with- 
out our  Father.  There  ain't  any  home-feeling 
about  such  a  crowd  of  money-getting,  pushing, 
scrambling,  flock-of-sheep-over-the-wall  human- 
ity, and  they  all  act  as  if  the  dogs  were  after 
them.  Still  they're  human  like  the  rest  of  us;  I 
count  'em  as  a  whole — all  men  and  women.  I 
always  assure  myself  by  saying  that." 

He  kept  up  this  quaint  moralizing  to  stay  his 
fainting  heart,  no  doubt.  And  as  we  came  in 


221 


sight  of  the  custom-house,  in  walking  down  Wall 
Street,  the  elder  exclaimed:  "It's  the  same  Uncle 
Sam,  our  Uncle  Sam,"  pointing  to  the  flag  with 
his  umbrella,  which  he  insisted  on  carrying. 

"  Can  you  direct  us  to  the  Battery  ?"  I  asked 
of  a  policeman.  The  man  could  not  literally  look 
down  on  one  of  my  stature,  but  mentally  he  did. 
I  was  a  countryman  in  his  eye  evidently.  He 
pointed  but  did  not  otherwise  direct  the  way. 
Having  turned  about  by  the  man's  direction,  we 
trudged  on. 

The  tremendous  sti'ides  of  my  companion  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  people  as  he  walked 
down  the  thoroughfare,  half  a  pace  ahead  of  me 
at  my  best,  his  black  satchel  a  swinging  balance 
in  his  left  hand.  People  smiled,  I  observed,  until 
they  noticed  his  noble  head;  the  fine  features, 
the  shapely  brow  with  its  fringe  of  white  hair, 
and  the  pathos  in  his  tender  eyes,  which  were 
searching,  searching  on  every  side,  commanded 
respect.  It  was  curious  to  study  how  the  smart 
city  man's  smile  at  the  rustic  faded  into  a  look  of 
serious,  unfeigned  interest  as  he  caught  sight  of 
the  old  preacher's  countenance. 

"That  is  like  war,"  he  exclaimed  at  length, 
as  the  tents  of  the  encampment  started  into  view 
amid  the  trees  and  the  flashes  of  the  bay  be- 
yond. Approaching  the  gate,  I  asked  the  sen- 
try: 

"  Can  you  tell  us  where  we  may  find  Major  or 
Captain  Parkridge,  of  the  —  th  Vermont  ?"  The 


222 


stiff  guardsman  rather  overawed  the  elder.  The 
sentry  made  me,  in  fact,  no  reply,  but  turned  his 
face,  rimmed  by  the  patent-leather  strap  under  his 
chin,  to  the  left,  and  spoke  to  the  officer  of  the  day. 
This  official  stepped  smartly  towards  us,  and  to 
him  I  repeated  my  question. 

"The  — th  Vermont  ?  Why,  that  regiment  has 
gone  back  to  the  front;  left  Jersey  City  in  the 
other  brigade  yesterday.  They  were  only  here 
for  a  day  or  two." 

"To  the  front?  It  is  too  far,"  exclaimed  the 
elder,  in  absolute  distress.  "'Lish,  before  we  can 
get  to  him  she  will  die  !"  He  dropped  his  bag, 
laid  his  umbrella  against  it,  removed  his  tall  hat, 
and  commenced  rubbing  his  brows. 

"You  are  distressed,  sir,"  kindly  rejoined  the 
lieutenant,  as  if  he  knew  not  what  else  to  say,  but 
wished  to  offer  some  sympathy  to  the  venerable 
man. 

"I  want  my  boy.  I'm  a  preacher.  My  wife 
lies  at  the  point  of  death,  and  I  have  come  to  get 
my  boy  to  go  up  on  a  furlough  long  enough  to  re- 
ceive her  parting  blessing." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  Is  he  an  officer  ?  If  so, 
you  can  undoubtedly  reach  him  by  telegram 
easily  enough." 

"Horace  Parkridge." 

"  Parkridge  ?"  exclaimed  a  brother  officer,  who 
had  been  leisurely  advancing  down  the  company 
street ;  and,  indeed,  two  or  three  others  made  up 
quite  a  group  of  officers  about  us  in  a  few  mo- 


223 


ments — "  Parkridge  ?  Why,  that's  the  fellow  with 
one  arm." 

"No;  my  boy  Hod  had  two  arms  when  he  left 
home — no,  that  can't  be  the  one,"  replied  the 
elder,  disposed  to  be  relieved. 

The  officers  smiled,  yet  a  trace  of  pity  was  in 
their  smiles  as  one  of  them  ventured  an  explan- 
ation :  "  He  may  have  had  two  good  arms  when 
he  left  home,  my  dear  sir,  but  many  things  happen 
to  us  after  we  leave  home  in  these  days  of  battle 
you  know." 

"  Elder,"  I  interrupted,  "  it  would  be  just  like 
Horace  to  conceal  a  glorious  deed  by  which  he 
had  lost  an  arm.  He  would  be  the  last  one  to  tell 
us  of  it,  and  especially  to  worry  his  mother  with 
such  tidings.  I  am  sure  that  is  the  man  we  want," 
turning  to  the  officer. 

"Yes,"  responded  the  lieutenant,  "the  man  is 
breveted  major  for  his  fine  action  when  he  lost 
his  arm.  I  say — but  you  informed  me  that  you 
were  a  clergyman.  Step  this  way,  you,  friend  of 
the  minister,"  and  he  approached  me.  Then,  in  a 
by-talk,  he  asked:  "Was  the  major  always  just 
right  ?  I  don't  want  to  unnecessarily  pain  his 
father,  but  this  Major  Parkridge  that  I  have  in 
mind  is  down  here  on  a  furlough,  and  is — he's 
the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  as  brave  as  a  lion, 
but  is  a  bit  given  to  crooking  his  elbow,  eh  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  that  is  he,"  I  replied,  soberly. 

"He  was  in  camp  here  not  more  than  an  hour 
ago,  and,  I  think,  even  then  under  the  influence 


224 


of  liquor,"  replied  the  lieutenant.  "You'll  find 
him,"  and  again  he  lowered  his  tone,  "at  Fore- 
kyte's.  Do  you  know  Foreky te's  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  don't,  sir." 

"  Exactly.  You  are  from  the  country.  So  am 
I;  but,  unfortunately,  since  I  have  been  stationed 
within  reach  of  it,  I  have  learned  to  know  Fore- 
kyte's  with  many  another  unlucky  officer.  It  is  a 

place  on  Street,  where  army  officers  break 

over  rules ;  but  I  doubt  if  you  can  get  in  there," 
and  as  he  said  this  his  voice  was  raised  sufficient- 
ly for  the  elder  to  hear. 

"  What  is  that?"  he  demanded,  eagerly.  "  Got 
trace  of  him  ?  Got  track  of  him  ?  Know  where  he 
is  and  we  can't  get  to  him  ?  I  would  like  to  see  a 
place  I  couldn't  follow  my  boy  into — that  is,  in 
this  world,  I  mean."  And  he  replaced  his  hat, 
lifted  his  umbrella  in  one  hand  and  his  satchel  in 
the  other,  wide  apart,  and  then  brought  them  to- 
gether in  front  of  him  with  a  resounding  whack. 

"  If  you  happen  to  have  any  bottles  of  medicine 
in  that  bag  of  yours,  elder,"  laughed  one  of  the 
lieutenants,  "your  collars  and  cuffs  will  smell  of 
liniment  after  such  another  blow  as  that." 

But  the  troubled  gentleman  was  too  serious  for 
the  slightest  response  to  pleasantry.  "Tell  me 
— tell  Mr.  Elisha  Stone,  his  life-long  friend,"  he 
continued,  "  and  me,  his  father,  where  is  Captain, 
or  Major,  Horace  Parkridge  ?  There  are  no  doors 
that  can  withstand  us  two  if  we  put  our  shoulders 
against  them." 


225 


But  the  reply  was  not  forthcoming.  After  a 
brief  consultation  among  the  officers,  in  which  I 
caught  the  words,  "  Only  get  his  head  broken — 
high-steppers,  full  of  liquor  and  high  play  " — at 
length  one  of  them  gave  us  the  direction  to  Fore- 
kyte's  Hotel,  and  we  started  once  more  on  our 
search.  We  wandered  considerably,  but  at  length 
we  arrived  in  front  of  that  once  famous  hostelry 

in Street,  the  elder  remarking,  as  we  stood 

gazing  up  into  the  great  windows: 

"Now,  those  arm-chairs  up  there  behind  that 
wide  glass  are  full  of  blue-coats,  and  Horace  would 
be  mortified  to  death  if  I  came  in  after  him  as  if 
he  were  a  truant  school-boy.  'Lish,  you  go  in,  and 
tell  him  I'm  out  here  waitin'  for  him." 

"  Mr.  Parkridge,"  I  replied,  "  we  have  reason 
to  fear  that  your  son  has  forgotten  somewhat, 
temporarily,  at  least,  his  self-respect,  or  he  would 
not  be  lounging  around  in  a  place  of  that  du- 
bious character.  You  may  as  well  go  in  with 
me." 

"It  is  dreadful  to  think  on — my  son,  once  so 
clean,  so  true,  who  would  have  put  his  duty  be- 
fore any  play,  and  especially  play  in  a  place  that 
brought  a  smirch  upon  his  good  name.  It  is  the 
great  city  that  does  it,  that  ruins  the  boys,  and 
yet  it  is  not  the  city.  A  man  ruins  himself, 
wherever  he  is  ruined.  But  I  feel  none  the  less 
as  if  I  should  drop  to  the  earth,  to  think  that 
those  officers  back  there  had  to  be  ashamed  to 
tell  us  where  my  boy  was  loungiri'  away  his  time 

15 


226 


on  a  furlough.     But  come  on.     I  will  have  him !" 

o 

And  he  uttered  the  last  with  a  tone  of  tremendous 
resolution,  as  if  all  his  soul  was  rallied  to  the  de- 
termination. 

"Don't  unnecessarily  give  yourself  away  now," 
I  warned  him.  "  You  must  not  go  in  there  with 
the  purpose  of  preaching  any  sermon." 

"Let  go  my  sleeve,"  he  answered.  "It  was 
only  a  moment  ago  that  you  were  beggin'  me  to 
come,  and  now  I  am  ready  to  go  in.  Let  go  !  I 
need  no  caution.  I  know  my  duty.  I  will  thunder 
the  whole  place  down.  I  would  like  to  take  my 
stand  by  one  of  those  billiard-tables  and  proclaim 
the  everlasting — " 

"Now,  see  here,  elder,  that  won't  do.  You 
must  go  in  quietly,  say  nothing  to  anybody  ex- 
cept our  boy,  if  we  find  him.  If  he  is  there  we 
shall  not  have  to  wait  for  him ;  he  will  discover  us 
almost  as  soon  as  we  open  the  door,  and  he  will 
come  straight  for  us." 

"  Unless,  oh,  unless  he  is  not  himself.  If  I  find 
him  under  the  influence  of  the  prince  of  the  pow- 
er of  the  air,  I  shall  certainly  bear  my  testimony 
against  this  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  combined.  It 
is  no  use  to  dissuade  me,  and  you  and  I  are  not 
afraid  of  any  Belials  who  snare  young  men  to 
their  ruin,  if  they  march  on  us  like  the  Amale- 
kites  in  battle  array." 

"No,  no,  not  afraid,  but  it  will  do  no  good 
your  preaching  in  there."  I  had  to  pass  these 
words  over  the  good  man's  shoulder  as  he  now 


227 


pushed  open  the  red  leather  doors  before  him  and 
strode  into  the  gaudy  bar-room. 

"Stand  here  a  minute  and  look  the  landscape 
o'er,"  whispered  the  elder.  "  Here's  more'n  a 
hundred  fair  young  men,  most  of  them  weai'in' 
their  country's  shoulder-straps,  wastin'  their  time 
guzzlin'  liquors,  and  leanin'  over  them  foolish 
tables,  and  lookin'  on  to  see  other  fellows  waste 
their  time  rollin'  them  balls  about." 

He  went  on  in  this  vein  of  reflection  and  de- 
scription of  the  place,  which  my  own  eyes  could 
see  for  themselves,  for  a  moment  or  two,  when 
he  was  promptly  interrupted  by  a  waiter,  who 
stepped  in  front  of  us  swinging  his  hands  and 
saying : 

"Seats  for  refreshments  in  the  next  saloon, 
through  the  door,  gentlemen." 

"My  young  friend,  see  here,"  quickly  respond- 
ed the  elder,  bringing  his  huge  hand  down  in  a 
fatherly  way  on  the  waiter's  shoulder;  "see  here, 
don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I  want  to  speak  with  you. 
We  don't  want  any  refreshments,  and  probably 
you  don't  want  any  of  my  moralizing.  What  we 
want,  however,  is  my  son,  Captain,  Major  Hor- 
ace Parkridge,  of  the  — th  Vermont  Regiment, 
United  States  Volunteers.  If  you  are  the  pro- 
prietor, or  his  son,  now,  perhaps,  which  is  more 
likely,  being  so  young  evidently,  you  probably 
know  Horace,  for  unfortunately  he  would  be  very 
familiar,  and  get  acquainted  with  the  proprietor 
of  any  tavern  where  he  was  stopping  right  off. 


228 


Everybody  likes  him,  and  he  makes  friends.     Do 
you  know  him  !" 

"Your  hand's  heavy,  old  boy,"  protested  the 
waiter,  and  his  smile  of  derision  had  begun  to 
give  way  to  an  angry  growl  through  his  white 
lips  before  the  elder's  explanation  was  half  fin- 
ished. "Let  up  on  me,  and  go  and  get  your 
drinks,  if  you  want  any." 

"Old  boy,  do  you  say!"  exclaimed  the  elder. 
"  That's  what  you  call  a  clergyman  in  New  York, 
is  it  ?" 

"  Clergyman  !  You  are  a  clergyman,  are  you  ? 
A  clergyman  from  up  country,  I  suppose.  You 
object  because  I  called  you  old  boy  ?  Excuse  me, 
but  I  would  rather  see  the  old  boy  than  a  minis- 
ter. Let  go  of  me.  Let  go  of  my  shoulder  !"  he 
bawled  out. 

"Elder,  see,  every  head  in  the  room  will  be 
turned  towards  us  in  a  moment.  We  must  cer- 
tainly avoid  a  disturbance.  We  don't  want  them 
all  eying  us." 

"Yes,  let  'em,  let  'em  look  this  way,"  he  said, 
lifting  his  fine  countenance,  and  raising  his  hat, 
"  then  I  can  see  if  the  face  that  I  love  best  is  here 
among  them  all."  The  clear  ringing  voice  that 
could  sway  a  camp-meeting  sounded  like  a  trum- 
pet-call through  the  rooms.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it 
was  about  as  appropriate  an  assault  as  two  unso- 
phisticated persons  like  ourselves,  and  one  of 
them  a  clergyman,  could  make  on  such  a  place. 
Perhaps  there  was  more  method  in  this  mad  nat- 


229 


uralness  of  my  companion  than  I  at  first  sup- 
posed. At  any  rate,  he  made  no  attempt  what- 
ever to  use  any  caution,  but  spoke  and  acted  as 
he  would  in  any  assembly  of  our  country  village 
where  he  was  universally  revered.  Unoccupied 
men  pushed  back  their  chairs  and  crowded  tow- 
ards us.  The  smoking  spectators  of  the  various 
billiard  matches,  who  filled  the  long  luxurious 
leather  benches  on  either  side  of  the  room,  saw 
the  prospect  of  something  more  exciting  than  a 
lazy  game  between  amateurs.  They  began  to 
muster  around  us. 

"  Be  careful,  gentlemen.  Remember  the  neces- 
sary quiet  of  a  gentlemen's  club,  especially  of 
army  officers."  It  was  the  quick,  sharp  tones  of 
the  head-waiter,  the  major-dorno,  as  he  dropped 
down  into  the  midst  of  us  from  somewhere. 
"  What's  the  matter,  Augustus?"  addressing  the 
waiter  whom  we  had  encountered  first.  "What's 
the  country  gentleman  hanging  on  your  shoulder 
for  ?" 

"  I  let  go  promptly,"  the  elder  volunteered  ; 
"  I  just  wanted  to  detain  him  for  a  moment  as 
being  a  representative  of  the  establishment,  and 
I  wanted  to  question  somebody." 

"  Curse  you  !"  growled  the  waiter  called  Augus- 
tus, squirming  loose,  and  smoothing  his  ruffled 
linen  over  his  shoulder,  and  then  he  flung  another 
oath  at  the  clergyman. 

"  Fined  for  that,"  promptly  noted  major-domo ; 
"  swearing  at  customers  now,"  and  he  whipped 


230 


out  a  note-book,  on  which  he  evidently  recorded 
the  incivility  of  the  unfortunate  Augustus. 

"  I'll  lose  my  posish  for  the  sake  of  swearing  at 
that  Yankee  country  priest,"  angrily  continued 
Augustus,  and  he  began  to  indulge  again  his  pro- 
fanity. 

"  Discharged,"  coolly  added  Mr.  Major-domo, 
writing  on  another  leaf  of  his  book,  which  he 
tore  off  and  thrust  into  Augustus's  face. 

"  Why,  then,  I  may  as  well  punch  him,  too," 
yelled  Augustus,  livid  with  rage,  as  he  sprang  tow- 
ards the  elder. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  deluded  brother  in  Adam,"  ex- 
claimed the  elder,  as  he  caught  Augustus's  wrist 
in  that  tremendous  clasp  of  his  brown  and  bony 
fingers.  "  No,  'Lish,"  he  said,  throwing  the  words 
to  me,  "  I  can  manage  him.  All  right,  gentle- 
men. Heaven  forgive  the  boy  ;  he  cannot  hurt 
me,"  and  Mr.  Parkridge  held  the  fellow  in  such  a 
vise  that  the  next  moment  he  fairly  yelled  for 
mercy. 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah,  for  the  countryman  !"  burst 
from  a  dozen  lips,  most  of  whom  had  not  under- 
stood the  clerical  character  of  my  companion  as 
yet. 

"  What  in  perdition  is  all  this  about  ?"  That 
is  the  way  I  write  it.  Perdition  was  not  the 
word  used  by  the  sleek  proprietor,  who,  alarmed 
by  the  sound  of  the  cheers,  now  pushed  his  swell- 
ing way  in  among  us. 

"  I  want  my  boy.     Is  this  Mr.  Forekyte  ?     My 


231 


name  is  Parkridge,  from  Northbrook,  Vermont. 
I  am  a  preacher.  This  is  Mr.  Elisha  Stone,  one 
of  my  most  respected  neighbors,  and  the  true  and 
loyal  friend  of  my  dear  boy  Hod.  Hod,  I  am 
afraid,  sir,  is  stoppin'  a  few  days  at  your  tavern 
here." 

"  My  tavern  !  This  is  a  rendezvous  for  army 
officers,  my  friend.  You  are  afraid,  you  say,  that 
your  boy  is  a  guest  here.  Afraid  of  what,  rev- 
erend, sir  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  we  will  not  discuss  that.  I  will 
skip  the  word,  if  you  don't  like  it;  and,  if  you 
don't  mind,  without  further  interruption — for  I 
don't  like  attention  over  much — I'll  commence  to 
stir  round  and  see  if  I  can't  find  Hod  in  some  of 
these  rooms." 

"No, "replied  Forekyte,  stepping  in  front  of 
us,  "  you  will  neither  discuss  nor  will  you  look 
about.  You  will  give  us  your  room  rather  than 
your  company.  That's  what  you'll  do,  my  cleri- 
cal friend.  My  guests  don't  come  here  for 
preaching,  nor  to  meet  clergymen — who  are  all 
well  enough,  I  suppose,  if  they  only  keep  in  their 
place."  He  said  this  with  a  broad  grin  flung  out 
over  his  flabby  roll  of  neck  fat  at  the  crowd. 
But,  to  his  surprise,  evidently  his  feeble  attempts 
at  ridicule  did  not  meet  with  a  ready  response 
among  the  men  who  were  standing  amid  his  glit- 
ter, especially  as  they  saw  at  nearer  view  the  ven- 
erable white  head  in  the  centre  of  their  muster. 

"  I  will  not  inflict  any  more  of  an  old  father's 


232 


kind  words  on  you,  boys,"  the  elder  resumed,  pa- 
thetically. His  eyes  ignored  wholly  the  bluster- 
ing Forekyte,  but  rested  with  a  caressing  gaze 
upon  the  group  of  officers  now  so  close  about 
him.  Then  he  suddenly  caught  the  nearest  youth- 
ful captain  by  the  arm,  and  asked,  abruptly, 

"  You,  now,  my  lad,  where  are  you  from  ? 
Where's  your  home  ?" 

"  From  Maine,  sir,"  answered  the  officer,  with 
the  utmost  respect. 

"And  you,  now?"  grasping  another,  with  the 
same  blunt  question. 

"  I'm  from  New  Hampshire,  elder  ?"  answered 
the  young  fellow,  who  happened  to  be  a  lieuten- 
ant of  the  — th  from  that  State. 

"  I  thought  so — up-country  blood  ;  and  I  pre- 
sume it  is  true  with  most  of  you.  God  bless 
you,  boys,  every  one  !  You  look  like  good,  sen- 
sible fellows  enough,  only  you've  got  into  a  bad 
place  in  the  great  city.  That's  what  your  father 
would  say  up  in  Maine.  And  your  mother  on 
the  granite  hills,  my  lad,  is  probably  thinking 
about  sitting  down  when  Saturday  night's  sun 
has  sunk  a  little  lower,  and  your  father  has 
brought  in  the  milkin',  and  writin'  you  a  dear 
good  letter.  Well,  God  bless  her  letter  to  you. 
Don't  stay  here,  my  dear  children,  I  could  al- 
most call  you." 

"  Now,  see  here,  you  venerable  owl,"  bawled 
Forekyte,  with  savage  interruption,  quite  forget- 
ting his  usual  skill  in  managing  his  place,  "  you 


233 


can  just  step  outside  these  doors  and  drop  all  the 
tears  you  want;  but  you  can't  stay  whining  in 
here,  where  men  come  to  be  happy  and  forget  the 
Avoes  of  life." 

"  Take  that  back,  Forekyte,  or  I'll  choke  you 
worse  than  your  ewn  fat  neck  !"  It  was  a  lieu- 
tenant-colonel from  Lamoile  County,  in  our  own 
State,  as  I  afterwards  found  out,  who  threw  his 
hot  protest  into  the  proprietor's  face,  as  he  pushed 
his  way  in  front  of  him  menacingly. 

At  that  moment  a  bell  tinkled  sharply,  and  in- 
stantly three  or  four  burly  fellows  seemed  to  come 
up  out  of  the  floor,  or  step  from  the  wall,  or  drop 
from  the  ceiling.  I  did  not  know  from  whence 
they  came,  but  there  they  were,  advancing  on  us, 
clubs  in  hand,  though  they  did  nor  wear  the  uni- 
form of  policemen. 

"  Make  way  here,"  commanded  one  of  these 
men,  just  behind  me. 

"  No  you  don't,  my  hearty,"  I  answered  him, 
as  I  still  kept  in  the  way  of  his  advance.  "  No 
man  must  lay  a  finger  on  that  harmless  old  gen- 
tleman while  I  live." 

"  You  ox-driver,"  groAvled  the  fellow,  in  a  low 
tone,  and  lifted  his  club.  I  could  not  wait  for  the 
club  to  descend,  of  course,  that  would  not  have 
been  prudent.  I  regret  the  blow  that  I  gave  him. 
It  was  unnecessarily  heavy.  He  was  too  much 
swollen  with  beer-drinking  to  need  so  hard  a  blow 
for  doubling  him  together. 

"  'Lish,  dear  child,"  protested  the  elder,  moving 


234 


towards  me,  his  long  arras  parting  the  throng  with 
a  gesture  such  as  one  makes  in  swimming,  "don't 
strike  any  one.  God  forbid.  Push  them  one  side, 
this  way,"  and  he  renewed  the  swinging  motion 
of  his  tremendous  arms.  "  Remember  that  they 
that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword." 

"But  these  are  the  clubs  of  rowdies,  poor  gen- 
tleman," exclaimed  one  of  the  officers.  "There 
must,  however,  be  no  more  of  this  violence,  Fore- 
kyte.  Come,  boys,  left  dress  and  hollow  square 
around  the  clergyman  and  his  adjutant." 

A  dozen  uniforms  made  such  a  solid  wall  about 
us  in  the  next  moment  that  Forekyte  had  an  op- 
portunity to  collect  his  wits,  as  he  saw  the  im- 
possibility of  reaching  the  disturbers.  Smiling 
as  if  he  would  make  the  best  of  the  situation,  he 
cried : 

"  Hands  off,  all  ;  silence  !  we'll  have  the  patrol 
in  here  in  a  second  more  if  you  don't  hush.  Now, 
reverend  gentleman,  what  is  it  that  you  really 
want  ?  Excuse  me.  I  probably  did  not  under- 
stand your  errand.  I  don't  want  any  sermons., 
but  anything  that  you  want,  why,  get  it  and  go 
quietly,  won't  you  ?  I  offer  you  my  apology." 

"I  want,"  replied  the  elder,  straightening  up, 
as  he  still  held  my  hand  as  a  precautionary  meas- 
ure in  his  own  ;  he  began  in  that  same  camp- 
meeting  tone,  clear  and  ringing :  "  I  want  my 
boy,  Horace  Parkridge.  Is  he  here  ?  Horace, 
my  dear  son  ?" 

The  voice  was  raised  to  its  highest  pitch,  and 


235 


given  its  full  compass.  It  echoed  through  the 
long  rooms  and  up  the  brass-carpeted  stairways, 
helped  on  by  a  hush  to  which  all  contributed,  and 
which  fell  over  not  only  those  in  our  immediate 
apartment,  but  evidently  far  down  the  suite  of 
rooms  among  the  confusion  of  mirrors,  "  Horace, 
my  dear  son  !" 

Scarcely  had  the  words  left  his  lips  before  there 
came  back  :  "  Father  !" 

"There, at  the  head  of  the  stairs," answered  the 
elder,  stretching  out  his  arms  over  lesser  men's 
heads,  while  a  look,  the  like  of  which  I  have  seen 
given  to  some  colossal  divinity  in  marble,  gleamed 
in  the  old  man's  yearning  face. 

"Make  way,  gentlemen,"  some  one  cried,  and 
the  throng  parted  in  a  lane.  As  Horace  descend- 
ed the  stairs  his  emotion  sobered  him  somewhat 
and  gave  him  the  command  of  his  footsteps.  His 
tangled  legs  grew  straighter  by  the  instant  as  he 
dropped  along  down  by  the  help  of  the  banister, 
and  when  he  touched  the  sawdust-sprinkled  floor 
where  we  stood  he  walked  erect,  quickly  advan- 
cing over  the  hundred  feet  or  so  that  separated  him 
from  his  father's  embrace. 

"  God  forgive  me,  father,  what's  the  matter  ?" 
he  cried,  as  he  yielded  his  one  hand.  "  And 
'Lish  !"  and  he  moved  the  stump  of  an  arm  yet 
bandaged  in  an  empty  sleeve  to  indicate  that  he 
could  not  give  me  the  other  hand. 

"Mother's  dying,  Hod  !"  and  the  elder,  appar- 
ently oblivious  of  us  all,  at  any  rate  with  a  natu- 


236 


ralness  which  melted  us  all,  bent  down  and  kissed 
his  son's  scarlet  forehead  as  if  he  had  been  a 
school-boy  running  into  the  home  door-yard  after 
a  truancy. 

"  O  God,  have  mercy  on  her  and  on  me  !  Is 
there  no  time,  no  hope  ?"  The  broken  voice,  qua- 
vering with  unspeakable  emotion,  the  handsome 
face  written  over  with  such  agony,  the  one  hand 
left  him  put  up  on  his  father's  shoulder,  and  the 
remnant  of  the  other  arm  laid  upon  the  preach- 
er's broad  breast  and  across  his  patriarchal  beard 
of  white,  the  wayward  boy  hid  his  face  in  his  fa- 
ther's clasp.  It  was  all  done  so  quickly,  and  I 
think  the  crowd  must  have  been  made  up  of 
home-loving,  home-sick,  up-country  soldiers,  near- 
ly every  one ;  for  the  spectacle  swept  a  tender- 
ness over  us  like  a  bit  of  April  weather,  and  ev- 
ery fellow's  cheeks  were  wet  in  no  time.  There 
was  not  a  click  of  a  billiard-ball  to  be  heard. 

"By  George  !"  I  overheard  the  Lamoile  Coun- 
ty colonel  say,  as  he  moved  by  me  to  hide  his 
emotion,  "  a  fellow  never  has  but  one  mother.  I 
hope  they'll  get  right  off./' 

"  Father,  let's  go  at  once." 

"The  three  -  o'clock  "New  England,"  some  one 
shouted  out. 

I  record  an  actual  fact.  Forekyte  himself 
touched  a  bell,  and  respectfully  said  :  "  There's  a 
carriage  at  the  door,  reverend  sir,  at  your  dis- 
posal. You  have  an  hour  easily.  But  if  you 
will — won't  you  eat  something  first  ?" 


"  No,  father,"  protested  Horace.  "  Thank  you, 
Forekyte.  Come, 'Lish,I  have  a  month's  furlough 
on  account  of  this,"  holding  up  his  arm.  "  There's 
no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  get  right  off.  Boys," 
turning  to  his  brother  officers,  "  I'll  not  forget 
any  man  who  is  in  this  crowd  as  soon  as  I  get 
back  to  the  army.  If  I  can  ever  do  you  a  ser- 
vice— " 

"  That's  all  right,"  they  answered,  in  a  score  of 
voices. 

"Don't  waste  any  more  time  on  us,  major," 
urged  some  one. 

"  Hurrah  for  Major  Parkridge,  of  the  — th  Ver- 
mont !"  cried  another.  But  there  were  no  cheers. 

"I  would  just  like  to  say  a  word  to  you,  boys," 
resumed  the  elder,  one  arm  half  around  Horace's 
neck,  and  the  other  lifted  as  if  he  held  blessings 
to  shower  on  us  as  his  closed  fist  was  opened  into 
five  branching  fingers.  "  'T'aint  more  'n  once  in 
a  lifetime  that  a  preacher  has  such  a  chance  as 
this.  No  doubt  your  chaplains  give  you  lots  of 
sermons."  Some  of  the  men  smiled  at  this,  I  no- 
ticed. "But  mine  is  lik.e  a  loaf  of  brown -bread 
just  baked  in  the  old  home  oven.  Now,  listen  to 
me,  boys  :  get  out  of  this.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Pro- 
prietor, but  you  get  out  of  this,  too.  Boys,  you're 
away  from  home  on  an  errand  fit  for  angels. 
We're  praying  for  you,  night  and  morning  and 
noon,  up  among  the  hills.  May  the  power  of  the 
Most  High  have  you  all  in  his  precious  keeping  ! 
If  you  were  my  own  dear  children,  I  couldn't 


238 


mean  it  more'n  I  do  now.  Come,  let's  shake 
hands.  Good-bye." 

Reverently,  with  many  a  word  of  blessing, 
man  after  man  of  that  company  came  up  and 
grasped  that  old  clergyman's  extended  palm. 

"You're  a  good  man,  sir.  If  the  world  only 
had  more  of  such  Christians  we  would  all  fall 
in,"  said  one. 

"  I'm  not  ashamed  to  ask  you  to  remember  me 
in  your  prayers,"  said  another,  as  he  passed. 
"But  don't  you  think  us  all  little  devils  ;  we  are 
riot  so  bad  as  we  seem.  We  know  a  Christian 
when  we  see  him,  which  is  not  too  often." 

"  Come,  father,"  groaned  Horace  ;  "  you  said 
she  was  dying." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  son  ;  but  she  says  she  will  live 
until  she  sees  you  again.  Yet  we  mustn't  tempt 
kind  Providence  by  missing  that  train." 

In  the  carriage  Horace  utterly  broke  down 
with  his  sense  of  shame. 

"You  mustn't  take  on  so,"  his  father  contin- 
ually reassured  him.  "  God  is  good.  You  can 
be  a  man  yet ;  and  Cynthia  sent  word —  What 
was  it,  'Lish?" 

I  began  to  tell  the  major  the  message  that  the 
girl  had  sent,  but  he  stopped  his  ears.  Then  he 
begged  me  to  go  on  again,  and  when  I  had  fin- 
ished my  piecemeal  narrative  we  were  well  on 
towards  the  station.  Weak  with  his  wound,  and, 
I  could  also  see,  broken  with  the  effect  of  some 
days  of  evil-doing,  he  gave  us  deep  solicitude  by 


239 


the  time  the  carriage  stopped.  I  was  not  pre- 
pared, however,  after  I  had  returned  with  tick- 
ets, to  hear  him  say  calmly  words  which  better 
befitted  a  mind  unhinged : 

"Father,  take  them  my  love  —  to  my  mother 
and  to  Cynthia.  Ask  them  to  forgive  me — every- 
body in  the  old  village — and  forget  me,  for  I  can- 
not endure  the  shame.  I  cannot  go  home.  My 
life  must  end  at  once  on  the  battlefield,  if  I  can 
by  searching  find  an  honorable  death  there." 

We  stood  facing  each  other  on  the  platform. 

"  'Lish  " — with  great  solemnity  the  elder  ad- 
dressed me,  and  yet  it  had  all  the  authority  of  a 
command  ;  he  dropped  again  that  gripsack  to 
the  platform,  and  laid  his  umbrella  deliberately 
through  the  handle — '"Lish,  grasp  him  !"  and  he 
once  more  swung  those  long  arms,  this  time  mak- 
ing a  shackle  about  his  son's  body. 

"Father,  don't  force  me  to  resist  you!"  pro- 
tested Horace. 

"Xo ;  you  needn't  resist  if  you  don't  want  to," 
replied  the  elder.  "  But,  resist  or  not,  it  don't 
make  any  difference,  my  boy;  you're  goin'  home, 
if  I  can  take  you." 

It  would  have  been  no  less  than  a  struggle 
amounting  to  assault  if  Horace  had  carried  out 
his  purpose  to  resist  his  father.  He  yielded.  In 
fact,  broken  in  spirit  and  in  body,  he  was  more 
like  a  child  than  a  man.  In  a  few  minutes  more 
the  train  was  carrying  us  away  towards  the  fond 
old  hills  of  Yankeeland. 


340 


Of  the  soothing  ministry  which  that  good  priest 
of  high  heaven  lavished  upon  his  own  son  all  the 
journey  through  I  cannot  write — it  would  take  an 
inspired  pen.  It  was  old,  yet  ever  new  ;  and  there 
is  a  power  in  the  ancient  faith  that  that  good 
man  preached  to  cure  a  soul  wounded  to  the 
death.  Of  that  I  am  sure.  Of  that  this  young 
scapegrace  stood  a  living  proof. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  was  the  sunny  afternoon  of  an  Indian-sum- 
mer day  when  we  were  met  by  Mary  Holyoke 
in  West  Village.  What  a  soft  frame  of  mind 
Nature  seems  to  fall  into  in  a  Vermont  Indian 
summer  of  the  late  autumn  ! 

"Is  she  yet  living?"  was  the  first  question  that 
fell  from  Horace's  lips,  and  he  was'  the  first  to 
speak. 

"Yes ;  and  may  revive,  the  doctor  says,  if  her 
mind  can  be  brought  to  help  her  body.  He  is 
sure  that  there  is  something  troubling  her  that 
has  brought  on  this  attack  of  prostration."  It 
was  the  depot  -  keeper,  good  neighbor,  who  said 
this,  significantly  eying  Horace. 

The  glory  of  that  autumn  air  could  not  avail 
to  stimulate  our  anxious  hearts  to  further  speech. 
For  the  most  part  we  crawled  up  those  rugged 
hill-sides  in  silence.  An  hour  later  Horace  ex- 
claimed again  : 

"  Here  are  my  feet  once  more  on  the  old  door- 
step, father.  I  am  very  thankful.  Only  your 
healing  faith'could  have  brought  this  all  about. 
I  never  meant  to  have  walked  under  the  branches 
of  these  maples  again." 

16 


242 


The  change  that  had  come  over  him  in  self- 
possession,  in  calmness  of  spirit,  and,  indeed,  in 
physical  strength,  was  refreshing  to  us  who  had 
seen  him  prostrated  in  New  York.  He  was  still 
evidently  suffering  much  pain  from  his  arm. 

"That  is  about  the  way  some  of  the  Virginia 
ruins  look,"  continued  Hod,  pointing  to  the  Bos- 
worth  place,  from  which  a  laggard  wreath  of 
smoke  still  occasionally  arose  from  the  confla- 
gration of  a  few  days  before. 

"Never  mind,  children,"  said  Mr.  Holyoke,  hob- 
bling along  upon  his  staff  to  greet  us ;  "  there's 
good  news  afore  you.  You'll  hev  it  yet,  'Lish  ; 
and  you  and  Mary  '11  soon  build  a  nest  again 
among  those  ruins,  if  Polly  Cark  does  her  duty." 

"Polly  is  here?  —  didn't  run  away,  the  wild 
creetur?"  asked  the  elder. 

"She's  been  here  every  hour  since  you  left, 
faithfully  at  your  wife's  side." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Horace  ?  Welcome  home !" 
Cynthia  said  it  as  she  stepped  forward  from  the 
sitting-room. 

"Cynthia  Littlewood  !"  exclaimed  Horace;  and 
for  a  moment,  as  they  grasped  hands,  they  looked 
in  each  other's  faces,  and  then  he  led  her  at  once 
back  into  the  sitting-room,  closing  the  door  behind 
him. 

"Ah,  well!"  sighed  the  elder,  as,  with  a  blank 
look  of  disappointment,  he  saw  his  son  depart 
through  that  door  rather  than  the  door  into  his 
mother's  chamber,  "  young  love  ain't  old  love  ; 


243 


but  he  knows  his  mother  is  better,  and  after  we 
old  folks  are  gone  the  young  love  may  keep  him 
while  the  old  is  but  a  memory." 

Then  he  threw  off  his  own  coat  and  walked  into 
the  chamber  of  the  invalid. 

"Can  we  go  in  at  once  and  see  mother?"  in- 
quired Horace,  reappearing  but  a  few  moments 
later. 

"It's  all  right,  my  dear,  I  guess,"  whispered 
Mary  Holyoke  to  the  flushing  Cynthia,  as  she 
flew  like  a  bird  to  her  side.  "Settled  so  soon 
as  that?" 

"  It  must  be  all  right,  that  which  bid  fair  to 
cause  years  of  agony.  We  simply  said,  '  For- 
give.' '  I  forgive,' "  was  Cynthia's  whispered  re- 
ply. My  heart  gave  a  jump  as  I  overheard  it. 

And  then  Mary's  "  So  glad,"  as  we  all  moved 
towards  the  invalid's  chamber. 

"  We  mustn't  all  go  in,"  I  protested. 

"Indeed  we  may,"  cried  Mary;  "she  is  going 
to  get  well.  Polly  Cark  has  cured  her;  Polly 
and  your  telegram  from  New  York.  These  have 
cured  her." 

"  Polly  Cark  !     What  has  she  done  ?" 

"  Wait  and  see  or  hear.  Remember,  it  is  a 
miracle,  in  a  few  days." 

Horace  opened  the  door.  His  mother  was  sit- 
ting up  in  the^bed  to  receive  him. 

"  Mother  dear !" 

"  My  dear  child  !  God  is  good  and  true."  And 
the  two  were  folded  in  each  other's  embrace. 


244 


Horace  then  knelt  at  the  bedside;  with  her 
transparent  hands  on  his  dark  hair,  she  said  : 

"  O  Saviour  of  mankind  !" — her  voice  was  so 
clear  that  we  all  wondered  at  its  cadences — "save 
him  ever,  as  thou  hast  thus  far  !" 

I  remember  how  the  glory  of  the  dying  day 
fell  through  that  west  window -sash  upon  the 
white  head  and  the  brown,  and  the  old  clock  that 
months  before  had  struck  a  parting  hour  now 
struck  the  hour  of  greeting.  Then,  lifting  her- 
self up  with  astonishing  strength,  Mrs.  Parkridge 
said : 

"  Polly,  my  own  sister,  bring  your  own  daugh- 
ter here.  Let  us  give  our  own  children  our  bless- 
ing." 

I  relate  these  astounding  revelations,  so  abrupt- 
ly made,  in  the  exact  order  of  their  occurrence, 
and  without  any  attempt  at  embellishment,  for  I 
am  no  artist.  At  that  word  Polly  Cark  ran  to 
Cynthia,  and  as  Cynthia  put  out  her  arms  in  sur- 
prise or  defence  against  her  assault,  or  yet,  pos- 
sibly, to  prevent  the  little  woman's  sinking  to  the 
floor,  Polly  cried,  with  an  exceeding  pathos  : 

"My  own  child,  Cynthia  Cark  !" 

Cynthia  did  not  speak  ;  I  believe  she  could 
not  if  she  had  tried. 

"  Horace,  she  will  fall,  too,"  I  warned  him. 
But  the  boy's  one  arm  was  of  small  avail  to  sup- 
port the  girl,  and  I  was  glad  I  had  two  good 
arms  to  help  my  old  house-keeper  to  a  chair. 
Cynthia,  pale  as  none  of  us  ever  saw  her,  turned 


245 


to  her  lover  and  fell  upon  his  shoulder  in  a  pas- 
sion of  weeping,  that  refuge  of  women.  I  swow, 
I  thought  she  would  cry  herself  to  death !  But 
Hod  held  her  hard,  and  said,  at  length, 

"You  have  not  kissed  your  mother."  And 
with  that  he  led  Cynthia  over  to  Mrs.  Cark's 
chair. 

"  Are  you  indeed  my  mother  ?"  asked  the  beau- 
tiful girl,  still  clinging  to  Horace's  shoulder  with 
one  hand,  while  she  slowly  put  out  the  other  till 
at  length  it  ventured  to  stroke  the  thin  gray 
locks  of  Polly's  bowed  head.  "  How  strange, 
when  one  has  never  had  that  filial  love,  to  try 
to  awake  it !  If  I  cannot  love  you  as  I  ought,  my 
mother,  God  help  me,  I  will  at  least  try,"  and  she 
stooped  down  to  kiss  Polly's  brow.  Still  she 
clung  to  her  lover. 

"  Don't  reprove  her,"  the  elder  began  ;  "  poor 
Polly  has  suffered  enough,  God  knows."  The 
man's  tones  trembled  till  he  could  hardly  pour 
the  message  from  his  heart. 

"My  dear,"  the  elder  continued,  addressing  his 
wife,  "can  you  endure  more  excitement?  Shall 
I  explain  to  these  young  people?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  us  do  right  now.  All  this  comes 
from  the  worship  of  money,  and  from  the  mis- 
taken rule  of  doing  wrong  that  good  might  come 
of  it.  And  God  will  now  forgive  us."  Mrs.  Park- 
ridge  spoke  with  difficulty,  and  3Tet  persisted,  in 
spite  of  her  exhaustion,  in  finishing  her  comment. 

"You  see,  children,"  the  elder  resumed,  "when, 


246 


years  ago,  Samuel  Cark,  honest  man,  your  father, 
Cynthia,  failed  to  come  back  from  a  whaling  voy- 
age— he  was  lost  at  sea — we  got  Polly  a  place  as 
house-keeper  for  the  Senator.  Mother  was  glad 
to  do  that  for  her  own  sister.  Your  birth  took 
place  under  this  roof  of  ours,  and  Polly  left  you 
here,  Cynthia,  a  babe  of  a  few  weeks,  to  go  work 
at  the  Senator's.  That  was  the  time  the  hard  rich 
man  was  quarrelling  with  his  last  wife.  Mrs. 
Bosworth's  child  was  born  then,  and  for  a  week 
or  two  the  little  new-comer  seemed  to  have  some 
hold  on  the  hard  old  man,  but  he  was  too  far 
crazed  with  dissipation,  and  the  soul  within  him 
was  eaten  out  by  his  high  life,  and  he  never 
was  himself  long.  That  baby  died.  Polly,  poor 
soul—" 

"  Out  of  pity  for  the  sick  lady,"  exclaimed  Pol- 
ly. "  She  was  sure  that  her  baby  was  her  only 
hold  on  her  husband  and  her  home.  Make  sure 
that  was  my  first  motive." 

"Yes,"  resumed  the  elder,  accepting  the  inter- 
ruption, "out  of  pity,  I  believe,  Polly  came  over 
and  got  you,  Cynthia,  her  own  baby,  and  put  you 
in  the  poor  lady's  arms  in  place  of  the  dead 
child." 

"  And  when  it  was  once  done,  it  was  done  !" 
excitedly  Polly  shot  the  words  out.  "It  was  a 
lie  ;  it  was  a  crime.  Oh,  what  falsehood  we  had 
to  use!  We  buried  the  dead  child  secretly — 
just  to  think  of  it,  going  to  the  cemetery  alone  ! 
But  Mrs.  Laura,  that  was  the  Senator's  wife — was 


247 


mistaken  in  her  expectations.  Nothing  could  con- 
trol him  long  in  those  bad  days,  when  he  was  go- 
ing to  pieces.  In  his  next  fury  he  expelled  her 
into  the  night,  and  he  insisted — oh,  what  a  night 
of  horrors  it  was ! — that  the  baby,  that  is  you, 
my  precious  child,  should  be  bundled  after  its 
mother.  As  he  said,  '  Put  it  into  the  chest  and 
take  it  after  her !'  I  could  not  believe  he  meant  it. 
I  was  sure  Mrs.  Bosworth  would  be  recalled  in  a 
few  days,  with  you." 

"  You  were  nearly  crazed  !"  Mrs.  Parkridge  of- 
fered, in  palliation,  from  her  pillow. 

"  Yes  ;  no  one  here  knew  what  I  had  done  till 
days  had  passed,"  resumed  Polly,  snatching  at 
the  narrative.  "But  that  chest  went  out  of  the 
mansion  with  the  lid  propped,  so  that  you  could 
breathe,  my  baby ;  and  once  we  were  in  the  old 
shay  I  took  you  out  and  held  you  in  my  arms, 
and  at  the  almshouse  I  gave  you  carefully  into 
the  nurse's  arms,  though  I  left  the  wooden  chest. 
Peleg  knows  this  much,  for  he  drove  the  shay. 
I  was  tender  and  careful  with  my  own  baby  that 
wicked  night  when  I  parted  with  her." 

"And  when  we  were  informed,"  interrupted 
the  elder,  "  you  flew  into  such  a  state  of  mind 
relating  it ;  we  feared  for  your  brain  as  you  told 
to  us  what  you  had  done,  but  we,  too,  burdened 
our  souls  with  your  secret,  for  which,  perhaps, 
God  has  punished  us.  But  we  watched  the  child 
till  Deacon  Littlewood's  wife  adopted  it.  In- 
deed, we  actually  persuaded  her  to  take  it  to  her 


248 


home.  Then  we  were  more  at  ease,  because  we 
thought  of  the  deacon's  wealth  and  Polly's  pov- 
erty. May  God  forgive  us  if  we  thought  too 
much  of  the  money."  And  as  his  eyes  rested 
upon  Polly,  he  seemed  giving  utterance  to  her 
thoughts  and  plannings  rather  than  his  own, 
though  he  was  too  generous  to  charge  it  upon 
her. 

"But  I  knew  a  lie  would  never  prosper,  and 
urged  it  day  by  day,"  whispered  Mrs.  Parkridge. 
"  I  knew  it  wasn't  the  way  to  do  evil  that  good 
might  come.  I  yielded  for  my  own  sister's  sake, 
but  only  day  by  day,  as  it  were.  I  feared  the 
righteous  Ruler  of  all  things  would  have  his  way. 
Indeed,  I  ought  to  say,  I  hoped  He  would,  and  I 
claimed  at  least  the  right  to  defend  my  own  son 
from  getting  into  this  cobweb  of  Satan." 

"  Which  your  righteous  God  overruled,  mother 
dear,"  Horace  could  not  help  saying,  with  a  fond 
glance  into  Cynthia's  eyes.  Then  after  a  little  of 
that  silence,  which  the  utmost  astonishment  often 
imposes,  I  ventured  to  ask  : 

"  You,  Polly  Cark,  told  all  this  in  exact  truth- 
fulness to  the  singer  and  Deacon  Littlewood  when 
you  thought  Cynthia  was  about  to  marry  Fel- 
ton  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "I  wanted  to  prevent 
any  more  wrong  being  done — to  you,  in  this  in- 
stance." 

"  Oh,  but  they  ha.d  gone  too  far,"  I  remarked, 
thinking  aloud. 


249 


"  Certainly,  and  they  are  more  guilty  than  yet 
appears,"  answered  Mrs.  Parkridge. 

"  You,  Elisha  Stone,"  the  elder  took  up  her  sen- 
tence, "are  Senator  Bosworth's  child,  the  child  of 
the  wife  who  followed  him  here  from  the  South, 
and  died  at  his  gate.  She  was  a  Creole  from  New 
Orleans." 

As  the  silence  of  a  deeper  astonishment  hushed 
us  all  once  more,  I  thus  took  my  place  with  Cyn- 
thia in  that  small  company  among  earth's  mill- 
ions, who  have  the  strangest  of  mortal  experi- 
ences, the  discovery  of  parents.  I  could  not 
make  any  comment.  I  stood  dumb  !-  The  old 
Senator,  then,  was  my  father,  the  very  relation 
which  I  once  was  so  thankful  was  not  mine. 

"You  are  to  thank  Ashael  Keep,  the  lawyer," 
resumed  the  elder,  "  for  the  full  proof  of  all  this. 
He  came  here  almost  as  soon  as  Horace  left  for 
the  war.  Had  it  not  been  for  mother's  nerves — 
she  said  it  would  kill  her  to  have  all  this  old  mat- 
ter about  Polly  spread  over  the  hill-sides  among 
our  neighbors — we  should  have  told  you  what  we 
were  doing  in  the  meanwhile." 

"  But  I  protested  that  I  was  ready  to  die,  if 
need  be,  that  my  duty  might  be  done,"  with  some 
excitement  Mrs.  Parkridge  urged  it.  "When 
you,  dear  Elisha,  paid  your  money  for  the  place,  I 
should  have  spoken  had  I  the  proof  that  you  were 
the  proper  heir.  Then,  however,  I  only  had  the 
bare  idea.  When  the  singer  and  Mr.  Littlewood 
wronged  you,  and  then  when,  later  on,  you  were 


250 


hurt  so  in  the  woods,  I  said  if  you  ever  recovered 
I  would  sell  the  clothing  from  my  back,  provided 
we  could  not  otherwise  afford  the  expense,  to  fer- 
ret out  the  proof  of  what  I  have  now  told  you. 
The  wool  money  of  this  fall  finally  paid  Ashael 
Keep's  expenses  in  his  investigation.  He  went 
West  and  hunted  up  the  proof  from  the  doctor's 
son,  whose  dissipated  life  has  since  come  to  its 
end.  That  Nashua  doctor  knew  of  the  will  —  I 
mean  the  Senator's  aged  brother." 

At  this  juncture  good  Dr.  Brown  stole  into  the 
room.  With  a  quick  eye  he  searched  us  all,  from 
the  patient  to  the  latest  talkative  intruder.  With 
uplifted  hands  he  said  : 

"  Now  you  must  go  out,  all  of  you.  Shoo,  shoo ! 
She  looks  brighter.  She  will  recover ;  but  you 
must  be  careful.  Go  out.  Horace,  how  is  this  ?" 
and  he  took  the  arm  which  Cynthia  was  clinging 
to,  while  he  gave  the  half  empty  other  sleeve  a 
professional  tap  of  inquiry  with  his  forefinger. 

We  obeyed  the  physician's  injunction,  while 
Horace  gave  him  some  scanty  narrative  of  the 
brave  deed  by  which  he  had  lost  his  arm.  As 
soon  as  we  were  congi'egated  in  the  great  sitting- 
room,  and  the  doctor's  inquiries  were  ended,  I 
said : 

"  Now,  then,  we  must  act  with  despatch.  Send 
for  Keep.  I  do  not  care  so  much  for  my  own 
rights  even — however  gratefully  I  acknowledge 
my  debt  to  a  kind  overruling  Providence  that  I 
am  likely  to  get  my  home  again — as  I  care  for 


251 


the  punishment  of  that  singer,  who* has  caused  us 
all  so  much  suffering." 

"It  is  nightfall  of  a  wonderful  day  of  mercy," 
protested  the  elder ;  "  let  us  remember  mercy  to- 
day. To-morrow,  wait  till  to-morrow.  Justice  will 
keep." 

"  Let's  behave  reverently,"  whispered  Mary  in 
my  ear.  "  Come,  put  on  your  coat,  Elisha  Stone 
Bosworth,  and  let's  you  and  I  walk  over  by  the 
twilight  to  see  what  we  can  do  in  the  way  of  re- 
pairs to  our  home.  We  may  need  it  soon,"  and  she 
flushed  the  red  roses  of  her  cheeks  to  a  brighter 
hue  as  she  spoke  it. 

"No  one  hears  you  but  me,  and  I  have  a  right 
to  hear  it,  Mary,"  I  remarked,  reassuring  her  mod- 
esty. 

"You  remember  I  was  to  speak  next,"  she  said, 
and  with  that  two  happier  people  never  walked 
this  dull  earth  than  the  pair  that,  with  a  hasty 
snatch  at  hats  and  outer  garments  from  the  pegs 
in  the  hallway,  walked  down  that  path  by  the 
well-sweep. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Bosworth,"  said  Mary,  dancing 
and  tripping  along  at  my  side,  "  or  I  can  see,  that 
Major  Parkridge  must  marry  Cynthia  Littlewood 
Cark — oh,  how  we  have  those  names  mixed  up, 
have  we  not? — before  he  returns  to  the  wars. 
They  must  have  the  house.  You  and  I  must 
move  into  our  own,  and  that,  too,  very  soon," 
pointing  to  the  gray  edifice,  whose  main  outlines 
were  preserved  about  in  their  original  shape  tow- 


252 


ards  the  east,  notwithstanding  the  fire  that  had 
eaten  away  upon  the  other  side. 

"  Why,  you  child,"  I  replied,  "there  is  nothing 
to  hinder  making  a  home  next  week.  Shall  it  be 
next  week?"  And  I  got  my  answer  in  the  old 
way  of  all  humanity,  too  happy  for  words. 

An  hour  later,  as  we  wandered  back  to  the  Park- 
ridge  house,  Mary  exclaimed,  "  Why,  thei'e's 
Ashael  Keep's  gig!" 

"That's  akerit,"  asserted  the  little  lawyer, 
stepping  from  behind  the  well-curb,  where  he  had 
been  taking  a  farewell  whiff  at  his  pipe,  and  he 
rapped  it  against  the  stone  at  the  base  of  the 
curb,  "  an'  you  young  folks  wanter  be  married  on 
this  very  evening  o'  November.  If  you  ain't,  it'll 
be  a  weddin'  delayed." 

"  What?"  we  both  of  us  exclaimed. 

"  About  this.  The  deacon  aforesaid  has  got 
out  an  indictment  against  you,  Stone — pardon 
me,  Mr.  Bosworth  —  for  breakin'  an'  enterin'. 
The  sheriff  '11  serve  it  early  Monday  mornin'. 
Better  she's  your  wife,  because  you  want  to  move 
right  in  and  get  settled  and  livin'  happily  afore 
you  have  any  lawsuits  to  attend  to.  Then,  too, 
there's  that  indictment  against  Felton  for  for- 
gery," he  began  again,  reading  from  a  legal  paper 
which  he  held  in  his  hand.  "But,  what's  the 
use  ?"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  folding  up  the  pa- 
per. "You  don't  care  to  hear  all  this  legal  lingo 
rehearsed.  It's  only  for  my  own  gratification, 
sort  o'  revengeful,  I  fear;  I  like  to  read  it  over. 


253 


I've  been  waitin'  to  fill  up  this  blank  so  long,  that 
now  it's  filled  up  by  the  Grand  Jury  I  kinder 
like  to  read  it  over." 

"  But  can  we  prove  it  ?" 

"You  have  that  paper,"  he  replied,  with  a 
slight  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"No,"  I  answered.     "  It  was  lost  in  the  fire." 

"Are  you  sure?  Wait  and  see.  Cark's  a 
shrewd  one.  But  don't  stan'  here  in  the  cold.  Go 
in  and  stan'  up  before  the  minister  and  be  mar- 
ried. What  are  you  waitin'  for  ?" 

Within  the  next  hour  we  had  obeyed  the  law- 
yer's injunction.  Our  long  waiting  was  over.  It 
seems  so  strange  that  I  should  write  the  consum- 
mation of  so  many  waiting  hours  in  this  single 
line.  As  we  were  receiving  the  greetings  of  the 
little  home  company,  some  one  exclaimed, 

"Now,  Horace." 

"  Wait  till  we  get  through  with  Littlewood  and 
Felton,"  put  in  the  lawyer.  "  That'll  be  soon 
enough."  And  it  was  so  agreed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"  I  LIKE  it — everything !"  exclaimed  my  wife, 
as  we  stood  in  the  hallway  of  the  old  Bosworth 
house,  surveying  the  effects  of  our  ingenuity 
towards  making  the  habitable  parts  homelike 
once  more.  We  had  been  wedded  three  weeks 
now. 

"  Let  me  get  that  money  from  that  Nashua  es- 
tate and  I  am  a  rich  man,"  I  explained.  "  I  shall 
be  the  only  heir,  the  Chicago  scapegrace  of  a  son 
of  the  doctors'  being  dead." 

"  But  I  thought  there  was  nothing  in  Nashua," 
observed  Mary,  her  brown  eyes  lifted  in  wonder  at 
my  declaration  that  I  was  likely  to  be  a  rich  man. 

"  True,  it  was  supposed  so.  The  land  taken  by 
the  railroad,  however,  turns  out  to  be  very  valu- 
able. I  shall  get  at  least  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  from  that  sale." 

"Oh,  wonder  of  wonders!"  She  clapped  her 
hands  and  flew  in  to  get  ready  for  our  drive  to  the 
village.  The  colt  was  even  then  standing  at  the 
door  behind  me.  As  she  reappeared  her  first 
word  was, 

"Now,  you  must  let  me  do  what  my  heart 
prompts  me,  you  rich  man,  Mr.  Bosworth." 


255 


"  What  is  that  ?"  I  asked,  as  I  helped  her  in 
behind  my  dear  Skip,  with  which  this  story  took 
its  first  ride. 

"Let's  pay  Cynthia  twice  what  this  furniture 
cost  her." 

"Agreed.     Go,  Skip." 

"  And  more,"  she  pursued,  as  we  spun  down  the 
highway.  "Let's  be  munificent.  Father  and  mother, 
of  course,  get  our  home  back  from  Mr.  Littlewood." 

"  Yes ;  he  has  begged  to  be  allowed  '  in  the 
Lord's  marcy,  brethering,'  to  count  that  whole 
business  as  a  great  mistake,  and  has  receipted 
your  father's  debt." 

"  Well,  why  not  sell  all  the  land  below  the  hill, 
just  keeping  the  house,  our  old  home,  for  father 
and  mother,  and  give  to  Cynthia  the  product  of 
the  sale  ?" 

"  Is  that  business  ?" 

"  Indeed  it  is  not,  you  selfish.  Don't  you  now 
fall  into  the  greed  of  gain  that  has  been  the  de- 
struction of  so  many  others,  just  because  you  have 
so  much." 

"Well,  God  help  me,"  I  responded,  with  genu- 
ine feeling,  "it  shall  be  as  you  wish.  Besides, 
Cynthia,  now  being  cast  off  by  Littlewood,  really 
has  nothing." 

"  And  Horace  has  nothing  except  the  elder's 
farm,"  Mary  resumed.  "  He  thinks  he  can  hard- 
ly marry  yet.  I  got  this  out  of  Cynthia.  Horace 
is  talking  about  what  he  will  possibly  save  from 
his  army  pay." 


256 


"But  if  we  get  this  singer,  Felton,  into  prison 
or  the  Legislature,  Horace  can  go  back  as  colonel. 
Governor  Trimbull  assures  the  elder  that  he  will 
commission  Horace  colonel  as  certain  as  Felton 
is  out  of  the  way." 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,"  sighed  Mary,  as  we  rose  and 
fell  along  the  glorious  drive,  and  such  happiness 
was  in  our  hearts,  "I  do  wish  that  Horace  did  not 
need  to  go  back  to  the  war." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  I  answered.  "In 
fact,  I  rather  think  I  ought  to  go  myself." 

"You!" 

"Why  not?"  And  my  bride  of  three  weeks 
did  not  reply. 

"Do  you  know  where  we  are  going  now?"  I 
asked  at  length,  to  break  in  upon  her  silence. 

"  You  are  going  to  that  town-meeting,  are  you 
not  ?"  she  asked.  "  Oh,  suppose  they  elect  you 
to  Montpelier?" 

I  smiled  in  spite  of  myself,  but  answered  :  "  It 
wouldn't  make  Felton  laugh  if  he  were  disap- 
pointed in  his  eagerly -sought -for  election  now, 
would  it  ?" 

"He  is  a  candidate ?" 

"Yes;  that  is  why  he  has  returned  at  this  time 
from  the  army — that  and  his  anxiety  about  the 
Bosworth  place." 

"  Yes,"  Mary  resumed  ;  "  and  I  suppose  he 
thinks  he  has  placated  all  the  country-side  by  his 
boastful  surrender  of  your  estate.  That  card  of 
his,  now,  in  the  Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  setting 


257 


forth  that  it  was  all  a  most  unfortunate  error,  and 
all  that." 

"  But  Ashael  Keep  has  a  blow  for  him." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"Now,  your  woman's  curiosity  must  wait,"  I 
answered. 

A  little  later,  leaving  Mary  at  the  union  store 
for  some  shopping,  I  soon  found  myself  in  the 
town-hall,  that  same  room  where  this  narrative  be- 
gan a  little  over  a  year  previous.  The  assembled 
farmers  were  gathered  in  excited  knots,  discuss- 
ing the  candidacy  of  various  persons. 

As  the  moderator  had  not  yet  called  the  meet- 
ing to  order,  it  was  proposed  to  have  a  speech 
from  Colonel  Arthur  Alfred  Felton,  the  foremost 
candidate  for  town  representative ;  that  is,  if  you 
could  reckon  what  he  had  said  of  himself  in  his 
abundantly  displayed  hand-bills. 

"A  speech,  a  speech,"  rang  through  the  hall. 
Felton  was  ready,  and  rose  to  reply.  He  nev- 
er made  a  finer  appearance  in  all  his  life  than 
he  did  standing  there  before  his  fellow-towns- 
men. 

"  That  is  just  where  he  stood  about  a  year  ago 
now,  'Lish,"  whispered  Horace,  as  he  came  up  be- 
hind me,  and  surprised  me  with  a  touch  of  my 
elbow. 

"  Here's  our  hero.  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  for  Ma- 
jor Parkridge,  the  wounded  soldier."  The  boy  had 
scarcely  crossed  the  threshold  and  shown  his  face 
before  this  hearty  greeting  met  him,  and  it  was 

17 


258 


entirely  spontaneous,  in  striking  contrast  with 
Felton's  wire-pulling  cheers. 

"He  don't  like  it,  Elisha,  does  he?"  said  Hor- 
ace, as  the  cheers  rose  for  himself.  "See  him 
struggle  to  hide  his  anger  under  that  handsome 
face." 

"  Fellow-citizens."  The  words  had  hardly  fall- 
en from  the  colonel's  lips  in  that  clear,  persua- 
sive tone,  of  which  I  have  often  spoken,  before  he 
had  compelled  the  listening  of  us  all.  Men  were 
always  charmed  when  he  spoke.  The  honest 
towns-people  seemed  to  forget  their  prejudices 
and  their  scruples;  and,  besides  all  that,  have  I  not 
uniformly  confessed  that  he  was  a  handsome  fel- 
low, engaging,  and  of  fine  speaking  ability'? 

Into  the  midst  of  his  first  five  minutes  of  glow- 
ing address  Ashael  Keep  and  the  sheriff  wedged 
their  way  as  an  iron  wedge  is  sometimes  driven 
into  a  maple  log.  Keep  finally  stepped  upon  the 
platform,  and  drew  near  enough  to  put  out  his 
hand  and  touch  the  orator  upon  the  shoulder. 
I  happen  to  know  just  what  the  whispered  words 
were  that  fell  into  the  speaker's  ear. 

"Felton,"  said  Keep,  "we  have  that  forged 
deed.  Polly  Cark  preserved  it." 

Quicker  than  any  word  can  describe  it  the 
colonel  turned  and  said,  "  You  lie,  you  little  dried- 
up  lawyer  !" 

Instantly  the  hush  of  expectation  fell  upon  the 
assembled  countrymen,  notwithstanding  the  mo- 
mentary commotion  of  movement  towards  the 


259 


platform.  Such  words  were  not  common  in  our 
quiet  political  meetings. 

"  That's  a  serious  charge,  townsmen,"  whined 
little  Ashael,  a  quiet  smile  of  conscious  power 
working  over  his  face.  "  This  man's  a  forger,  and 
I  can  prove  it." 

"  That's  so,  br — feller-citizens,"  cried  Deacon 
Littlewood,  who,  from  some  surprising  conceal- 
ment, began  to  push  his  way  towards  the  plat- 
form. "  My  conscience  won't  let  me  keep  com- 
pany wi1  this  son  o'  Belial  any  more  ;  I'm  too 
much  a  lover  o'  righteousness.  Jveep's  got  th' 
forger  in  his  fingers." 

Felton  turned  pale  as  marble,  but  glanced  a 
moment  at  the  fatal  paper,  then  at  his  white-haired 
partner  in  the  game,  thus  turned  State's  evidence, 
then  his  dark  eyes  wandered  in  almost  pitiable 
search  over  the  sea  of  faces  until  they  rested  on 
Horace  and  myself,  when  they  flashed  a  fire  of 
defiance. 

"  Come,  get  your  bail,"  commanded  the  sheriff, 
as  Felton  did  not  offer  to  move. 

"  I  will,  and  I'll  return,"  he  said,  confidently,  as 
lie  stepped  down  from  the  platform  to  accompany 
the  lawyer  and  the  officer  out  of  the  room. 

Why  should  I  dwell  upon  the  picture?  He 
never  did  return.  When  he  had  served  out  his 
five  years  in  th*e  State's  prison  Arthur  Alfred 
Felton  went  to  South  America.  It  is  said  he  ac- 
cumulated a  fortune  there. 

Within  an  hou,r  of  the  time  when  Felton  left 


260 


the  hall,  by  one  of  those  strange  and  popular 
movements  that  no  one  can  explain,  I  was  elected 
the  representative  to  Moutpelier  in  his  place. 
That  was  the  beginning  of  my  political  career, 
which  has  never  taken  me  higher  than  lieutenant- 
governor  of  my  own  State. 

Horace  and  Cynthia  were  married  on  Christmas 
day.  By  the  beginning  of  the  new  year  he  was 
back  again  at  the  front,  where  he  served  in  hon- 
orable position,  using  a  brigadier-general's  sword 
eventually  with  his  one  arm.  He  has  valued  poli- 
tics higher  than  I,  and  is  now  a  representative  at 
Washington.  I  hope  that  he  may  eventually  sit 
in  my  father's  seat  in  the  Senate.  Mrs.  Park- 
ridge  recovered  from  the  illness  that  bore  her  so 
near  to  the  grave,  and  only  a  year  ago  this  writ- 
ing passed  on  with  her  beloved  husband,  the  two 
almost  joining  hands  for  the  transit  across  the 
dark  river.  Even  as  I  write  I  can  look  from  my 
library  window  over  the  russet  fields  to  the 
marble  headstone  which  marks  the  spot  where 
this  venerable  couple  sleep  beside  my  own 
mother's. 

Polly  Cark  lives  on.  Her  great  age  does  not 
dim  the  dark  eyes  that  gleam  yet  with  some  of 
their  old  fire.  But  the  peace  of  her  present  life 
has  made  her  gentle  in  her  daughter's  home. 
And,  I  am  glad  to  record,  there  is  no  one  she 
loves  better  than  ray  own  oldest  daughter,  who 
often  acts  as  the  staff  of  her  tottering  feet,  for 
she  cherishes  only  good-will  to  mine  and  me. 


261 


Of  Mr.  Littlewood  it  is  enough  to  say  that  he 
is  himself  even  in  his  age;  and  as  he  is  now  alone 
in  the  world,  the  sole  occupant  of  his  solitary 
farm-house  and  his  own  companion,  that  is  punish- 
ment enough. 

So  now,  the  afternoon  sun  being  low  down  tow- 
ards the  mountains,  let  the  twilight  fall.  The 
countryman's  story  is  told.  It  is  our  home  mus- 
ter hour.  Let  the  night  thicken  later,  for  we 
have  shelter  under  the  protection  of  the  good 
God,  who  has  had  his  own  way  in  our  lives,  as  He 
always  does  with  all  in  this  world.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  dread  when  the  next  day's  sunrise  breaks 
in  upon  Bosworth  House. 


THE    END. 


BY  MAEY  E.  WELKINS. 


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